Crfuntpliant 


ORIGINAL  POETRY 

BY 

FREDERIC  LAWRENCE  KNOWLES 
Love  Triumphant    .     .     net  $1.00 

A  Book  of  Poems 

On  Life's  Stairway  .     .     .        1.00 

A  Book  of  Poems 

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THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

53  Beacon  Street        Boston,  Mass. 


A   Book   of  Poems 

By 
Frederic  Lawrence    Knowles 

Author    of 
"On    Life's    Stairway,''    etc. 

Fifth,  revised  edition,  containing  "  Sunset  Poems"    now  first 

collected  since  the  author's  death,  also  an  appreciation  by 

Prof.  C.  T.  Winchester,  L.  H.  D. 


Boston 

The   Page    Company 
Pub  Ushers 


Copyright,  1904 
BY  FREDERIC  LAWRENCE  KNOWLES 

Copyright,  1906 
BY  DANIEL  C.  KNOWLES 

All  rights  reserved 


Fifth  Impression,  May,  1914 


THE   COLONIAL   PRESS 
C.   H.    SIMOND8   CO.,    BOSTON,   U.  8.  A. 


A/-75LC. 


TO 

Lottie*  CljanHlfr  Jlnttlton 

BY   HER   AFFECTIONATE   FRIEND 
THE  AUTHOR 


304252 


Note 

Acknowledgments  are  hereby  made  to  the 
Century,  Atlantic  Monthly,  Harper's  Mag 
azine,  Poet-Lore,  National  Magazine,  Brown 
Book,  Christian  Endeavor  World,  and  other 
periodicals,  for  their  courteous  permission  to 
reprint  copyright  poems. 


of  eontntts 


PAGE 

LOVE  TRIUMPHANT      .        »,*.*.        1 
LOVE  AND  HISTORY     .        »        .        .        .        ...        3 

LOVE'S  WORLD  .  •      ,        .        .        .        •        .        6 

A  WOMAN'S  HEART    .        .        ...        .        .        7 

To  AN  OLD  FLATMATE       »        .        ,N       ,"     ^      .        8 
IT  LOVE  WERE  JESTER  AT  THE  COURT  OP  DEATH   .        9 
THE  SINGER  ,        ,        .        .  .        .10 

THE  CELESTIAL  MOMENT    .        .        .        .        .        .12 

A  MEMORY  .  .  *    »        .        •        /       .        .14 

THE  HOUR  or  FIRE .      16 

AT  DAWN    .        .        .        «        ,        .,«...      19 
HER  LIPS     .         ,        .  .        ....        .       20 

CREATION     .         .  .        .        .        .        »        .21 

A  SONG  OF  CONTENT  .....  22 


THE  BALLAD  OP  EDEN 
To  A  DISCOVERER 


LOVE'S  AWAKENING    .......      27 

LOVE'S  FULFILMENT 29 

THE  LAST  WORD         .        .        .        .        .        .        .80 


of  eantrius 


PAGE 

-LOVE'S  PRICE 32 

JOT  AND  SACRIFICE 34 

THE  SURVIVOR    ........      36 


IL 

THE  LARGER  VIEW 39 

VERITAS       ...                  41 

DIRECTIONS  TO  A  TRAVELLER 42 

THE  TWOFOLD  PRAYER 43 

GOLGOTHA 45 

THE  NURSE .  46 

LAUS  MORTIS       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .48 

A  PRATER 50 

BIRTH 51 

THE  GOLDEN  DOOR     .        .        .        ...        .52 

CREDO i        ...  53 

LOVE  IMMORTAL  ........  54 

BETHLEHEM  MORN      .......  56 

THE  WIDOW'S  SON 57 

SHEKINAH    .         .         .         .         .        .         .         .         .58 

THE  SEA  OF  FAITH 59 

THE  ANSWER 61 

A  SIMPLE  STORT         .        .         .        .        .         .         .  63 

HER  TRANSPLANTED  ROSE  ......  64 

THE  STEPS 66 

ON  THE  PATH      ........  67 

To  AN  OAK 68 

A  CHALLENGE 69 

WHAT  Is  HEAVEN  ?.......  71 

x 


of 


PAGE 

OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 74 

O  TROUBLED  OVER  MANY  THINGS      ....      76 

III. 

THE  GLASS 79 

SIN'S  FOLIAGE 80 

ONE  WOMAN .         .81 

BETRAYED    . 82 

To  THE  MOON      .        .        ......       84 

LOST 86 

THE  THREE          ,.        .        .         .        .        «        .        .88 

DISCORD       .        . 90 

THE  DISCIPLINE  OP  FAILURE      .         .  .         .92 

IN  A  FAR  COUNTRY 94 

L'Emroi       .        .    '     „        .        .        .        .        .        .97 

IV. 

HAIL,  AMERICA  !         .        ,        .        .        .        ,        .  101 

THE  COMING  SINGER  .        .        .        »        4        .        .  102 

THE  NEW  PATRIOT      .        .        .        .        »        .        .  104 
THE  MASTERS      .         .        .        .'.''»        .        .106 

A  MODERN  POET     •.   +        «...        •        .        .  107 

THE  NEW  AGE .  HJ 

SON  OF  THE  PURITANS         .         .        .        .        .•       .  112 

DIVES  AND  LAZARUS,  1904 113 

THE  CHRISTMAS  FOR  AMERICA  .....  116 

THE  WORLD'S  NEW  WATERWAY         .         .        .         .  118 

To  A  MODERN  OFFICE  BUILDING        ....  120 

THE  POET  FOR  TO-DAY        .        .        ...        .  122 

NEW  EjraLAKD 124 


of  Contents 


V. 

A  SONG  OF  DESIRE     .        .        .        .        .        .        .  183 

A  SONG  OF  MEMORY  .......  134 

THE  GLIMPSE 136 

To  MOTHER  NATURE 137 

THE  SEA 139 

THE  WAVERLEY  OAKS .140 

THE  APIUL  BOY 142 

A  SONG  OF  SAILING    .......  144 

To  A  BROKEN  SEA -SHELL 146 

THE  THIEF 148 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE  SUNRISE          ....  160 

THE  MAN-CHILD        .         .         .         .         .         .         .162 

To  A  LOCOMOTIVE  AT  NIGHT      .....  166 

THE  CHILD  WHO  WENT  AWAY          .        .        .        .167 

OUR  FRIEND 160 

THE  CLOSED  GENTIAN 162 

To  POETRY 163 

DESIRE 164 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  COUNTRY 166 

FREDERIC  LAWRENCE  KNOWLES  :  A  TRIBUTB    .        .  169 
SUNSET  POEMS 

To  THE  ETERNAL  SPIRIT 176 

THE  REST  OF  THE  STORY   .        .        .        .        .        .  179 

THE  EXCHANGE 181 

To  JESUS  THE  NAZARENE    .        .        .                 .        .  182 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  WHITE  HOUSB       .        .        .        .184 

•tt 


CatHr  of  <£  otittnt  s 


PAGE 

THE  HIGHER  UNITY 185 

A  LYRIC  OF  ASPIRATION     ......  188 

LOVE'S  REVELATION 190 

THE  TENANT 192 

O  DEJLR  FARM  .        .  193 


xiii 


I. 


"The  truth  of  truths  is  love." 

—  Bailey's  "Festus.' 


Crtumpfjant 


LOVE   TRmMPHANT 

HELEN'S  lips  are  drifting  dust; 
Ilion  is  consumed  with  rust; 
All  the  galleons  of  Greece 
Drink  the  ocean's  dreamless  peace; 
Lost  was  Solomon's  purple  show 
Restless  centuries  ago; 
Stately  empires  wax  and  wane  — 
Babylon,  Barbary,  and  Spain;  — 
Only  one  thing,  undefaced, 
Lasts,  though  all  the  worlds  lie  waste 
And  the  heavens  are  overturned. 
—  Dear,  how  long  ago  we  learned! 

There's  a  sight  that  blinds  the  sun, 
Sound  that  lives  when  sounds  are  done, 
Music  that  rebukes  the  birds, 
Language  lovelier  than  words, 
1 


Hue  and  scent  that  shame  the  rose, 
Wine  no  earthly  vineyard  knows, 
Silence  stiller  than  the  shore 
Swept  by  Charon's  stealthy  oar, 
Ocean  more  divinely  free 
Than  Pacific's  boundless  sea,  — 
Ye  who  love  have  learn'd  it  true. 
—  Dear,  how  long  ago  we  knew ! 


LOVE    AND    HISTORY 

ROSES  shed  their  petals 
Countless  Junes  ago, 
And  those  dead  Decembers 
Brought  their  snow. 

Weary  eyes  were  covered 
With  their  patient  lids, 

By  the  yet  unbuilded 
Pyramids. 

Life  and  Death,  like  sweethearts, 
Wandering  hand  in  hand, 

Then,  as  now,  stole  over 
Sea  and  land. 

Lovers  kissed  and  parted, 
Eyes  were  moist  and  blue, 

In  the  Midian  meadows 
Moses  knew. 

Cheeks  were  wet  with  weeping, 
Brows  were  hot  with  fire, 

Ere  the  hand  of  Homer 
Swept  the  lyre. 


And  this  masque  of  midnight, 
And  the  moon's  white  face, 

Looked  on  Nile  and  Jordan, 
Thebes  and  Thrace. 

Must  the  mint  be  new,  dear, 

If  the  coin  is  gold? 
Though  youth  dies,  Love  never 

Waxes  old. 

History  means  this  morning, 
Greece  is  here  and  now; 

Let  us  drain  Time's  beaker  — 
I  and  thou! 

Press  thy  lips  to  mine,  dear, 
Thus  —  and  thus  —  and  thus ; 

Space  and  time  shall  perish, 
Slain  by  us. 

All  the  lands  of  wonder  — 
Years  of  pain  and  bliss, 

We  will  taste  together 
In  that  kiss ! 


Stimulant 


LOVE'S    WORLD 

THE  earth  upon  its  axis  span 
Or  e'er  our  Father  fashioned  man. 
He  viewed  His  worlds  and  called  them  good 
In  their  new-quickened  lustihood; 
The  flowers  made  riot  with  perfume, 
And  every  grot  was  rank  with  bloom, 
Yea,  death-doomed  beauty  made  so  free, 
It  mimicked  immortality  — 
Wings  cleft  the  air,  fins  clave  the  deep, 
All  day  was  song,  all  night  was  sleep, 
But  still,  O  still,  unborn  were  three  — 
Pain,  Sin,  and  History! 

God  knows  how  much  those  Junes  have  missed, 
WTiere  lips  of  woman  ne'er  are  kissed  — 
Ah,  lonely  lanes  be  they,  God  knows, 
Where  never  lover  plucks  a  rose ! 
The  Sun,  to  his  new  course  addressed, 
Feels  his  slow  way  across  the  West  — 
Before  one  guest  His  door  unbars 
God  lights  a  million  welcoming  stars ; 
The  moon  looks  down  on  grass  and  wave, 
And  sees  an  Earth  without  a  grave! 
5 


For  still,  O  still,  unborn  are  three  — 
Grief,  Death,  and  Memory ! 

0  love,  lean  close !    My  spirit's  drouth 
Is  quenched  of  thirst  against  thy  mouth ; 

1  crave  thy  human  warmth,  my  soul 
Thou  fillest  as  an  emptied  bowl! 
Pour  in  this  cup  all  mad  desire, 
Pour  longing  with  its  ruthless  fire ! 

I  drain  the  liquor  to  the  lees  — 

Did  Eden  know  fierce  joys  like  these? 

O  dearest,  what  could  life  have  meant 

To  one  in  that  fair  prison  pent  — 

That  hapless  world  without  these  three  — 

Love,  Sympathy  —  and  Thee ! 


6 


A   WOMAN'S    HEART 

A  BUTTERFLY  with  radiant  wings 
She  flash'd  among  the  throng, 
Her  beauty  was  like  poetry, 

Her  motions  were  as  song ; 
Her  blood  was  warm  with  youth  and  hope, 

And  quick  with  hidden  fire, 
Her  heart  the  home  of  nesting  loves, 

And  throbs  of  young  desire ; 
And  ah !   that  song  the  red  lips  sang  — 

Hush !   I  can  hear  it  yet ! 
Oh,  joy  and  I  shall  never  part, 

For  love  and  I  have  met!  " 

A  butterfly  with  wounded  wings 

She  flutters  through  the  throng, 
Her  laugh  has  kept  its  gaiety, 

Her  heart  has  lost  its  song ; 
Her  heart!   the  home  of  frozen  hopes, 

The  grave  of  dead  desire, 
A  hearth  whose  ashes  lie  so  deep 

They  cover  all  the  fire !  — 
Her  eyes  seem  saying,  even  while 

Her  lips  are  white  and  set, 
How  easy  for  a  man  to  lovet 

How  easy  to  forget!  " 
7 


TO   AN    OLD    PLAYMATE 

YOUR  lips,  dear  girl,  were  roses, 
Your  hair  was  ripened  wheat, 
The  brook  forgot  his  song  to  hear 
The  music  of  your  feet. 

Your  hands  were  swift  white  butterflies, 
Your  eyes  were  wells  of  blue, 

Oh,  what  a  riot  in  my  heart 

Was  wrought  by  June  and  you ! 

And  now  for  years  beneath  the  grass 
Your  heedless  hands  have  lain, 

And  recollection  wakes  in  me 
A  hurt  that  scarce  is  pain. 

Asleep  with  Nature,  breast  to  breast, 

How  peacefully  you  lie! 
Above  your  heart  the  care-free  flow'rs, 

And  over  them  —  the  sky. 


8 


Ettuwpljaut 


IF  LOVE  WERE  JESTER  AT  THE 
COURT    OF    DEATH 

IF  Love  were  jester  at  the  court  of  Death, 
And  Death  the  king  of  all,  still  would  I 

pray, 

"  For  me  the  motley  and  the  bauble,  yea, 
Though  all  be  vanity  as  the  Preacher  saith, 
The  mirth  of  love  be  mine  for  one  brief  breath !  " 
Then  would  I  kneel  the  monarch  to  obey, 
And  kiss  that  pale  hand,  should  it  spare  or 

slay; 

Since  I  have  tasted  love,  what  mattereth! 
But  if,  dear  God !  this  heart  be  dry  as  sand, 

And  cold  as  Charon's  palm  holding  Hell's  toll, 
How  worse,  how  worse !    Scorch  it  with  sorrow's 

brand ! 
Haply,  though  dead  to  joy,  'twould  feel  that 

coal; 

Better  a  cross,  and  nails  through  either  hand, 
Than  Pilate's  palace  and  a  frozen  soul! 


9 


THE    SINGER 

BEFORE  that  crowd  she  stood,  a  flowerlike 
thing  — 

That  curious  crowd  that  came  to  see  her  sing 
(See  more  than  hear,  her  beauty's  fame  was 

such), 

Unconscious  as  a  child,  save  for  a  touch 
Of  happy  fear  like  some  wild  bird  was  she, 
Instinct  with  light,  and  fire,  and  purity ; 
But  when  she  sang,  there  fell  so  deep  a  hush, 
The  listening  ear  might  almost  hear  a  blush ! 
Methinks  the  very  footlights  must  have  felt 
The  wonder  and  the  fragrance  where  they  knelt. 
Across  the  years  once  more  I  see  her  stand, 
The  sheet  of  music  trembling  in  her  hand. 

Suitors  she  had  in  plenty ;   men  who  flung 
Their  hearts  with  their  bouquets  when  she  had 

sung; 

She  laugh'd  in  girlish  ignorance,  nor  guess'd 
The  flattery  in  the  voices  that  caress'd. 
But,  lest  his  blossom  suffer  blight  withal, 
Came  j  ealously  the  Lover  of  us  all, 
And  wooed  her  spirit  with  his  subtlest  breath  — 
What  lad  hath  kiss'd  so  many  lips  as  Death! 
10 


Through  blinding  tears  once  more  I  see  her  lie 
Like  a  pale  lily,  garnered  for  the  sky ! 

Mayhap  one  voice  was  missing  in  the  choir 
That  sings  forever  round  God's  feet  of  fire; 
Mayhap  the  Seraphim,  leaning  low,  had  caught 
Her  little  human  echo  of  God's  thought, 
And  wished  her  thither,  till  she,  answering,  rose, 
Loth  to  leave  these  her  friends,  yet  fain  for 

those, 
More  distant  but  more  dear,  whose  lips  were 

placed 

Warm  on  the  Bridegroom's,  passionately  chaste. 
I  know  not;   this  I  know:   mine  ear  shall  keep 
Those  great  soprano  sounds  until  I  sleep; 
And  this  I  know :  her  brow,  her  hair,  her  eye, 
Shall  be  to  me  a  glory  till  I  die ! 


II 


THE    CELESTIAL    MOMENT 

I  AM  only  a  sigh  of  the  Infinite  Powers, 
Only  God's  breath  on  a  glass, 
Only  one  pulse  of  the  endless  hours, 
Only  a  breeze  on  the  grass. 

I  am  only  the  spray  on  a  poising  wave, 

A  cataract's  foam  and  froth, 
A  mushroom  springing  by  night  on  a  grave, 

The  dust  on  the  wings  of  a  moth. 

I  am  only  the  flight  of  a  sweet,  swift  dream, 

The  shadow  cast  by  a  cloud, 
A  seed  that  is  dropp'd  by  a  Hand  Supreme 

In  the  heart  of  a  field  unploughed. 

And  yet  do  you  pity  the  butterfly 

That  his  hour  so  quickly  goes, 
If  over  him  swoons  the  passionate  sky 

And  under  him  faints  the  rose? 

O  turn  to  me,  lean  to  me,  lips  that  I  love ! 

One  moment  of  merciful  bliss,  — 
Ere  my  shade  shall  be  borne  to  those  stars  above 

Where  only  the  ghosts  may  kiss;  — 
12 


SCrimupfjant 


Back  to  the  stars  from  whence  I  came  — 

Over  a  blindfold  way, 
Far,  O  far,  like  a  spark  to  its  flame, 

I  who  have  lived  my  day,  — 

Who  have  lived  my  day  when  I  flash  and  poise 

The  rose  of  the  world  above, 
Then  home  like  a  joy  to  the  source  of  joys  — 

A  love  that  is  lost  in  Love. 


18 


A    MEMORY 

THE  Night  walked  down  the  sky 
With  the  moon  in  her  hand ; 
By  the  light  of  that  yellow  lantern 
I  saw  you  stand. 

The  hair  that  swept  your  shoulders 

Was  yellow,  too, 
Your  feet  as  they  touched  the  grasses 

Shamed  the  dew. 

The  Night  wore  all  her  jewels, 

And  you  wore  none, 
But  your  gown  had  the  odor  of  lilies 

Drench'd  with  sun. 

And  never  was  Eve  of  the  Garden 

Or  Mary  the  Maid 
More  pure  than  you  as  you  stood  there 

Bold,  yet  afraid. 

And  the  sleeping  birds  woke,  trembling, 
And  the  folded  flowers  were  aware, 

And  my  senses  were  faint  with  the  fragrant 
Gold  of  your  hair. 
14 


ZLofcr 


And  our  lips  found  ways  of  speaking 

What  words  cannot  say, 
Till  a  hundred  nests  gave  music, 

And  the  East  was  gray. 


15 


THE    HOUR   OF   FERE 

OWAS  it  you  that  waited  in  the  dawn, 
Or  Fate,  or  Flame,  or  Splendor  of  De 
spair? 
Faint  with  the  memory  of  your  wind-blown 

hair, 

I  rose  —  was  borne  to  meet  you,  Passion's  pawn 
Moved  by  The  Hand!     And  up  the  terraced 

lawn, 

(To  my  impatience  such  an  endless  stair), 
Climbed  past  the  oaks  and  furtive  shrubbery, 

where 

You  lay,  pale,  startled,  panting  like  a  fawn! 
How  wealthy,  whoso  holds  for  treasure  one 

Such  ravishing  moment  at  a  kingdom's  cost! 
Though  peace  were  forfeit,  tho'  my  heart,  un 
done, 
Should  pay  the  price  with  infinite  years  of 

frost, 
Again  I'd  fly,  a  meteor  tow'rd  the  Sun, 

And  on  your  burning  breast  and  lips  be  lost! 

God !  once  again  I  live  that  hour  of  hours,  — 
Past  the  park  gates  and  past  the  sleeping 
hounds, 

16 


The    gardener's    lodge    that    overlooks    the 

grounds, 

With  the  dark  windows  buried  deep  in  flow'rs, 
The  hedgerow  and  the  woods,  where  shade  de 
vours 

Discovery,  till  at  last  the  only  sounds 

That  stab  the  quiet  with  delicious  wounds 
Are  two  loud  hearts  which  passion  overpowers ! 
And  on  your  mouth  —  red  as  the  new-ris'n  sun 

That  flushed  the  hills  which  peered  between 

the  trees  — 
I  tasted  death  and  life  together  —  one 

Supremest  marriage  at  joy's  height  of  these 
Old,  timeless  lovers ;   till  the  Dawn  was  done, 

And  Day,  o'erhead,  broke  into  golden  seas! 

And  now!    nay,  but  I  have  no  song  for  Now, 
Then    life    was    mine  —  now    am    I    grown 

Death's  slave, 
Whom  he  lets  live  for  pastime;    breeze  and 

wave 

Run  as  of  old,  and  younger  hands  must  plough, 
Sow,  reap,  and  spend;    yea,  on  new  lips  and 

brow 
Youth  rains  new  kisses,  but  the  Hand  that 

drave 
The  arrow  thro'  my  heart,  when  in  her  grave 

17 


I  buried  Love,  is  heavy.    Spare  me,  Thou  1 
Nay!    spare  me  not  I    give  me  whate'er  Thou 

hast 
In  Thy  black  storehouse  of  new  griefs;    the 

gold 
Of  one  rich  memory,  hoarded  to  the  last, 

Thou  couldst  not  take,  tho'  I  should  thrice 

grow  old! 
Mine  the  eternity  which  is  the  Past, 

Through  all  eternities  that  are  foretold! 


18 


AT    DAWN 

T1EAUTIFUL  as  the  feet  of  Atalanta, 
D  Delicate  as  the  hand  of  Aphrodite, 
Coines  the  dawn  across  the  eastern  hilltops. 

Golden  as  the  fleece  that  launch'd  the  Argo, 
Prouder  than  great  Nineveh  on  the  Tigris, 
Enters  'neath  these  boughs  the  wealth  of  morn 
ing. 

Night  recedes,  the  lingering  waves  of  darkness 
Lift  —  forsake    these    heights;     the    tide    that 

drown'd  us 
Ebbs  into  the  dawn's  flush'd  indolent  languor. 

Let  us  rise,  O  love,  and  tow'rd  the  city 
Take  our  way,  —  within  our  eyes  the  silence 
Of  a  memory  holier  than  the  daybreak. 

Thro'  the  long,  gray  streets,  just  wash'd  with 

sunrise, 

Downward  thro*  the  waking  roar  of  traffic,  — 
Onward,  onward  thro'  the  world  forever! 
19 


HER    LIPS 

ALL  of  the  joy  in  a  wild  bird's  nest, 
All  that  God  hid  in  a  violet's  breast, 
All  the  soft  wonder  of  twilight  and  star, 
All  that  white  caravans  bring  from  afar, 
All    the    wealth     captured    by     Spain's     fierce 

ships  — 
All  became  mine  at  the  touch  of  her  lips ! 


ILotoe  Eviuntplfjaut 


CREATION 

A  FLASH  of  Will  and  a  word  of  Power  - 
Your  body  rose  like  a  soft,  white  flower; 
Winds  went  North  and  winds  went  South  — 
There  grew  the  mystery  of  your  mouth; 
Night  leaned  over  her  golden  bars  — 
Your  hair  blew  free  like  a  cloud  of  stars; 
Dreams  and  a  song  and  a  sunrise  sea  — 
Your  eyes  looked  out  from  the  Dawn  at  me! 


A    SONG   OF    CONTENT 

HOW  many  million  stars  must  shine 
Which  only  God  can  see!  — 
Yet  in  the  sky  His  hand  has  hung 
Ten  thousand  stars  for  me! 

How  many  blossoms  bloom  and  fade 
Which  only  God  can  know !  — 

Yet  here's  my  field  of  buttercups, 
And  here  my  daisies  blow. 

How  many  wing-paths  through  the  blue 
Lure  swallows  up  and  down  — 

Yet  here's  my  little  garden  walk, 
And  yon's  the  road  to  town! 

How  many  a  treacherous  voice  has  wooed 

Unhappy  feet  to  roam  — 
Yet  God  has  taught  my  willing  ear 

The  sounds  of  love  and  home! 

How  many  lips  have  kiss'd  and  clung 
Since  Eve  was  Adam's  bride!  — 

But  God  has  given  me  you,  dear  girl, 
And  I  am  satisfied! 


THE    BALLAD   OF   EDEN 


OTHE  birds  were  loud  in  Eden, 
In  Eden,  in  Eden, 
They  were  mad  with  mirth  in  Eden 

So  fair; 

O  their  wings  were  swift  as  flames, 
Sweet  and  curious  were  their  names, 
And  their  songs  were  wild  as  passion, 
pure  as  prayer! 

n. 

There  were  rainy  days  in  Eden, 

In  Eden,  in  Eden, 
Days  of  sun  and  shower  in  Eden 

So  fair! 

Carpets  must  be  soft  as  floss, 
Woven  of  grass  and  woven  of  moss, 
Where  the  foot  of  man  and  foot  of  maid 

are  bare! 


m. 


They  were  bravely  clad  in  Eden, 
In  Eden,  in  Eden, 


O  the  fashions  throve  in  Eden 

So  fair! 

Cloth-o'-leaves  from  God's  own  vines, 
Thread  and  needles  from  the  pines, 
And  the  wind's  own  way  of  doing  up  the 

hair! 

IV. 

O  but  Man  was  strong  in  Eden, 

In  Eden,  in  Eden, 
Like  a  happy  god  in  Eden, 

So  fair, 

And  the  Woman's  blood  was  red, 
All  her  tears  were  still  unshed, 
And  her  lips,  with  soft  defiance,  laughed 

at  care. 

* 

v. 

O  the  world  still  seems  an  Eden, 

An  Eden,  an  Eden, 
O  the  world  is  always  Eden 

So  fair; 

Though  the  serpent's  glittering  eyes 
Have  a  cleverer  disguise, 
While  you're  walking  through  the  orchard, 

have  no  care! 


Hob* 


VI. 

Still  for  us  the  earth  is  Eden, 

Is  Eden,  is  Eden, 
Still  our  Earth,  dear  love,  is  Eden 

So  fair,  — 

And  we  taste  all  fruits  that  be, 
Even  from  the  Knowledge  Tree, 
Though  its  branches  have  been  grafted 

with  Despair! 

VII. 

O  though  life  wax  old  in  Eden, 

In  Eden,  in  Eden, 
Love  is  still  the  lord  of  Eden 

So  fair; 

All  the  blossoming  is  for  us, 
And  our  happy  creed  runs  thus : 
Failure  visits  only  those  who  fail  to  dare! 

vin. 

So  we  fear  no  sword  in  Eden, 

In  Eden,  in  Eden :  — 
Who  shall  drive  us  from  our  Eden 

So  fair! 

Is  there  built  a  gate  —  a  wall  ? 
At  a  lover's  kiss  they  fall, 
If  we  love,  new  Edens  wait  us  everywhere. 
25 


TO    A    DISCOVERER 

LONG  was  my  spirit  like  some  lonely  reef 
In  gray,  unvisited  oceans,  where  the  Sea, 
Relentless,  drove  its  salt  waves  over  me, 
A  cold,  monotonous  surf  of  unbelief; 
But  ere  I  hardened  into  hopeless  grief, 

Thou  earnest,  bringing  love,  faith,  sympathy ; 
I  found  myself  and  God  in  finding  thee, 
And  my  long  dream  of  doubt  looked  void  and 

brief. 

Then  was  my  soul,  with  her  new  glory  dazed, 
Like  that  green  island  among  tropic  seas 
When  the  strange  sail  approached  the  won 
dering  shore, 

And  startled  eyes  beheld  the  Cross  upraised, 
While    the    great    Spaniard    sank    upon    his 

knees, 
And  the  Te  Deum  shook  San  Salvador! 


LOVE'S    AWAKENING 

WHEN  Memory  was  a  desert 
And  Life  a  dungeon  wall, 
When  Hope  became  a  harlot 

That  lured  me  to  my  fall, 
When  June  had  lost  its  old  perfume 

And  Poetry  its  glow  — 
There  flashed  a  sense  of  wings  and  bloom ! 

Of  joys  that  stir  and  grow! 
The  thorns  became  a  chaplet 

Upon  my  bleeding  brow,  — 
Night  fled ;    the  world  was  sunrise !  — 

0  dearest,  it  was  thou! 

My  heart  was  lost  to  feeling, 

1  could  not  weep  nor  smile, 
I  had  no  joy  of  music,  — 

O  'twas  a  weary  while! 
I  lived  within  a  sodden  trance 

That  knew  nor  faith  nor  fears, 
My  soul  was  blind  as  sightless  Chance, 

A  ghost  that  mocked  the  years; 
When  lo!   a  gentle  whisper, 

A  kiss  upon  my  brow! 
21 


The  arms  of  love  were  round  me !  — 
O  dearest!   it  was  thou. 

And  though  'tis  still  a  marvel  — 

The  rapture  and  the  wings, 
My  heart  has  learned  the  wonder 

Of  love  that  serves  and  sings, 
Now  I  can  welcome  June  again 

And  watch  her  roses  blow, 
Once  more  I  find  the  world  of  men 

A  conflict,  not  a  show. 
From  wrorse  than  death  awakened, 

Whence  came  the  spell  and  how? 
God's  angel  must  have  touched  me  — 

Nay,  darling,  it  was  thou! 


ILoiit 


LOVE'S    FULFILMENT 

ALL  the  passion  of  the  skies 
Where  the  moons  of  August  hang, 
I  have  read  within  thine  eyes. 

All  that  sage  or  poet  guess'd, 

Sinai  spake  or  Stratford  sang, 
I  have  learn'd  upon  thy  breast. 

All  the  wander-thirst  of  ships, 

Wave's  wild  kiss  and  tempest's  fang, 
I  have  tasted  on  thy  lips. 

Now  the  sting  and  storm  are  past, 

(Youth's  mad  voices  —  how  they  rang !),  - 
Comes  the  calmer  bliss  at  last! 

Yea,  the  carnal  grows  divine 

Since  our  souls  together  sprang, 
And  my  lost  heart  flow'd  in  thine ! 

Like  the  Gulf  Stream  in  the  sea, 

Leagues  below  the  pulse  and  pang, 
Broods  my  spirit,  drown'd  in  thee! 


THE    LAST    WORD 

WHEN  I  have  folded  up  this  tent 
And  laid  the  soiled  thing  by, 
I  shall  go  forth  'neath  different  stars, 
Under  an  unknown  sky. 

And  yet  whatever  house  I  find 

Beneath  the  grass  or  snow 
Will  ne'er  be  tenantless  of  love 

Or  lack  the  face  I  know. 

O  lips  —  wild  roses  wet  with  rain ! 
Blown  hair  of  drifted  brown ! 

0  passionate  eyes!     O  panting  heart- 
When  in  that  colder  town 

1  lie,  the  one  inhabitant, 

My  hands  across  my  breast, 
How  warm  through  all  eternity 
The  summer  of  my  rest ! 

To  each  frail  root  beneath  the  ground 
That  thrusts  its  flower  above, 

I  shall  impart  a  fiercer  sap  — 
I  who  have  known  your  love ! 
30 


ZLotie 


And  growing  things  will  lean  to  me 
To  learn  what  love  hath  won, 

Till  I  shall  whisper  to  the  dust 
That  secret  of  the  Sun. 

Yea,  though  my  spirit  never  wake 
To  hear  the  voice  I  knew, 

Even  an  endless  sleep  would  be 
Stirred  by  the  dreams  of  You*: 


LOVE'S    PRICE 

WHEN  I  look  for  roses. 
Bittersweet  and  rue ! 
Can  it  be  that  this  is  love  ?  — 
This  my  dream  come  true? 
Love  I  thought  would  bring  me 

Only  perfect  joy, — 
That  was  twelve  long  months  ago 
When  I  was  a  boy. 

0  a  twelvemonth's  longing! 

O  a  twelvemonth's  pain  !  — 
Sunshine  only 'when  the  clouds 

Lift  above  the  rain ! 
Doubt  that  dreads  the  morrow, 

Care,  before  unguess'd,  — 
Then  a  shaft  of  golden  joy 

Quivering  in  my  breast! 

Yet  I  still  press  forward, 
Scornful  of  my  wound, 

1  will  love  while  years  shall  last 
And  the  earth  goes  'round! 

Should  a  man  turn  craven, 
Challenged  by  Desire? 


Nay,  love  blesses  while  it  burns 
Let  me  face  the  fire! 

Lads  who  lust  for  pleasure, 

Long  for  ease  and  mirth, 
I  no  longer  walk  with  you 

Down  a  flow'r-clad  earth ; 
Love's  white  feet  allure  me 

Up  a  steeper  way, 
Though  I  bleed  I  follow  Her 

Where  the  peaks  are  gray ! 


33 


JOY    AND    SACRIFICE 

1GAVE  you  aU  that  I  had, 
And  the  giving  made  me  glad ; 
So  great  was  my  love  the  while, 
I  asked  neither  thanks  nor  smile. 

If  you  only  would  let  me  pour 
My  service  before  your  door, 
My  worship  around  your  feet, 
The  days  and  the  nights  were  sweet. 

But  what  an  end  is  this ! 
Your  lips  that  I  may  not  kiss 
At  last,  with  a  frown,  command 
I  lay  no  gifts  in  your  hand. 

Yet,  dearest,  before  we  part 
Let  me  speak  this  word  from  my  heart 
I  have  striven  and  lost,  and  yet 
I  hold  no  thought  of  regret. 

I  have  owned  life's  costliest  thing; 
Though  I  have  drunk  from  a  spring 
Where  my  thirst  could  never  slake, 
I  have  given  up  all  for  your  sake 


Eofoc 


And  loved  you  purely  and  well 
With  a  peace  I  can  never  tell, 
And  I  breathe  toward  Heav'n  this  word; 
Bless  Thou  my  Love,  O  Lord ! 

My  Love  who  never  gave 

The  joy  that  starved  hearts  crave, 

Yet  pays  me  a  richer  price 

For  service  and  sacrifice. 

She  has  taught  me  that  life  can  bring 
No  better  and  nobler  thing 
Than  a  spirit  that  gives  and  gives ; 
O  bless  my  Love  while  she  lives ! 


THE    SURVIVOR 

WHEN  the  last  day  is  ended, 
And  the  nights  are  through ; 
When  the  last  sun  is  buried 
In  its  grave  of  blue; 

When  the  stars  are  snuffed  like  candles, 
And  the  seas  no  longer  fret; 

When  the  winds  unlearn  their  cunning, 
And  the  storms  forget; 

When  the  last  lip  is  palsied, 

And  the  last  prayer  said ; 
Love  shall  reign  immortal 

While  the  worlds  lie  dead! 


36 


II. 


"Love  which  is  the  essence  of  God." 

—  Emerson, 


THE    LARGER    VIEW 

IN  buds  upon  some  Aaron's  rod 
The  childlike  ancient  saw  his  God; 
Less  credulous,  more  believing,  we 
Read  in  the  grass  —  Divinity. 

From  Horeb's  bush  the  Presence  spoke 
To  earlier  faiths  and  simpler  folk ; 
But  now  each  bush  that  sweeps  our  fence 
Flames  with  the  awful  Immanence ! 

To  old  Zacchasus  in  his  tree 

What  mattered  leaves  and  botany? 

His  sycamore  was  but  a  seat 

Whence  he  could  watch  that  hallowed  street. 

But  now  to  us  each  elm  and  pine 
Is  vibrant  with  the  Voice  divine, 
Not  only  from  but  in  the  bough 
Our  larger  creed  beholds  Him  now. 

To  the  true  faith,  bark,  sap  and  stem 
Are  wonderful  as  Bethlehem ; 
No  hill  nor  brook  nor  field  nor  herd 
But  mangers  the  Incarnate  Word ! 
39 


Hob* 


Far  be  it  from  our  lips  to  cast 
Contempt  upon  the  holy  past  — 
Whate'er  the  Finger  writes  we  scan 
In  Sinai,  prophecies,  or  man. 

Again  we  touch  the  healing  hem 

In  Nazareth  or  Jerusalem ; 

We  trace  again  those  faultless  years ; 

The  cross  commands  our  wondering  tears. 

Yet  if  to  us  the  Spirit  writes 
On  Morning's  manuscript  and  Night's, 
In  gospels  of  the  growing  grain, 
Epistles  of  the  pond  and  plain, 

In  stars,  in  atoms,  as  they  roll, 
Each  tireless  round  its  occult  pole, 
In  wing  and  worm  and  fin  and  fleece, 
In  the  wise  soil's  surpassing  peace,  — 

Thrice  ingrate  he  whose  only  look 
Is  backward  focussed  on  the  Book, 
Neglectful  what  the  Presence  saith, 
Though  He  be  near  as  blood  and  breath ! 

The  only  atheist  is  one 
Who  hears  no  Voice  in  wind  or  sun, 
Believer  in  some  primal  curse, 
Deaf  in  God's  loving  universe ! 
40 


ZLobr 


VERITAS 

AH,  no  more  the  lyre  of  deep-brow'd  Homer 
Drops  like  golden  rain  in  joy  of  battle 
Those  slow  spondees   and   those  headlong  dac 
tyls  — 
Sounding  lines,  and  every  line  a  lyric! 

Ah,  no  more  the  harp  of  dreaming  David  — 
On  whose  eye  of  faith  there  flash'd  the  Vision, 
From  his  own  pure  heart  proj  ected  skyward  — 
Spills  its  splendid  ecstasy  of  worship. 

Shall  we  then  hark  back  to  sage  and  shepherd, 
Put  our  lips  to  Iliads  and  Psalters, 
Quaffing  mighty  wines  of  war  and  worship, 
Wild  and  wistful  with  forgotten  questions, 
Satisfied  with  draughts  that  leave  us  thirsting? 

Nay,  the  rather  face  the  future  boldly, 
Let  who  will  look  back,  be  ours  to-morrow ! 
Psalms  for  those  who  like,  for  us  truth  only, 
That  new  Science  which  is  Faith  and  Worship, 
That  old  Worship  which  still  lives  transfigured : 
God  in  all  things  —  force  and  mind  and  matter, 
Immanent,  immutable,  immortal! 
41 


® triumphant 


DIRECTIONS    TO    A    TRAVELLER 


TJ 
1  J. 


OW  far  must  I  follow  this  dusty  way?  " 
Till  the  hills  grow  faint  in  the  twilight 
gray. 


"  Must    I    keep    the    road    till    it    drops    from 

sight?" 
At  the  line  of  the  sky  is  a  path  to  the  right. 

"  And    what    is    the    name    of    the    cross-road 

there?" 
The  name  on  the  finger-post  is  Care. 

"  And  must  I  travel  that  new  path  far?  " 
Till  the  West  is  bright  with  the  Evening  Star. 

"  And  how  many  miles  must  I  journey  then?  " 
Till  you  reach  the  Tavern  of  All  Good  Men. 

"  And  how  many  roofs  shall  I  have  to  pass  ?  " 
But  one:   that  Hostelry,  thatched  with  grass. 

"  And  whither  thence  at  the  dawn  of  day  ?  " 
The  Host,  when  He  wakes  you,  will  point  the 
way. 

42 


THE    TWOFOLD    PRAYER 

WHEN  grass  is  green  and  tall,  lad, 
When  hills  are  white  with  sheep, 
When  whetstones  ring  against  the  scythe, 

And  the  sauntering  brook's  asleep ; 
When  trees  are  loud  with  flutter  and  song 

And  not  a  bough  is  sad, 
When  skies  are  smiling  in  God's  face, 

And  even  man  is  glad ; 
When  June  flees  down  her  laughing  lanes 

As  fast  as  foot  can  fall, 
The  castles  that  our  fancies  build 

Are  fair  as  Ilion's  wall ; 

Yet  this  must  be  the  boon,  lad, 

To  ask  the  jealous  years: 
"  Oh,  if  ye  may,  bring  laughter, 
And,  if  ye  must,  bring  tears." 

For  soon  the  grass  shall  wither,  lad, 

And  winter  come  with  snow, 
Soon  other  hands  shall  hold  the  shear, 

And  other  arms  shall  mow, 
43 


ZLotoe 


Soon  Helen's  face  must  yield  its  grace, 

And  youth  must  lose  its  Troy, 
For  love  unlearns  its  pleasure,  lad, 

And  June  forgets  her  joy. 
Oh,  life  must  give  this  ignorant  heart 

The  penance  that  it  needs !  — 
How  long  a  rosary  seem  our  days 

When  sorrow  counts  the  beads ! 

Yes,  this  shall  be  the  prayer,  lad, 

We  ask  the  coming  years : 
w  Oh,  if  ye  may,  bring  laughter, 
And,  if  ye  must,  bring  tears." 


44 


GOLGOTHA 

OUR  crosses  are  hewn  from  different  trees, 
But  we  all  must  have  our  Calvaries ; 
We  may  climb  the  height  from  a  different  side, 
But  we  each  go  up  to  be  crucified ; 
As  we  scale  the  steep,  another  may  share 
The  dreadful  load  that  our  shoulders  bear, 
But  the  costliest  sorrow  is  all  our  own  — 
For  on  the  summit  we  bleed  alone. 


45 


ILoue 


THE    NURSE 

("  Death,  the  nurse  of  all  ") 

EVENING  now  has  come  with  shadows, 
Colder  grows  the  air, 
Look!    the  Sun  takes  down  his  pictures 
Till  his  walls  are  bare. 

She  we  fear,  the  icy-bosomed, 

With  her  cold,  kind  face, 
Bending  over,  like  a  mother, 

Draws  to  her  embrace, 

Crooning,  "  Night  has  come,  and  darkness, 

Dear  ones,  ye  are  tired, 
I  have  brought  you  only  slumber  — 

I,  the  Undesired. 

"  Ye  shall  sleep  in  dreamless  quiet 

Where  no  griefs  can  pass, 
Tears  will  never  wet  your  eyelids 
Underneath  the  grass. 

"  If  ye  miss  the  hands  of  loved  ones 
Ye  have  press'd  so  oft, 
46 


Lo,  the  roots  of  flowers  have  fingers 
That  are  cool  and  soft !  " 

Good  night !    we  must  rise  and  follow 

Her  who  fares  before,  — 
How  the  playthings  strew  the  pathway 

To  that  chamber-door! 

Nurse  of  all,  thou  unf orgetf ul ! 

Gentle  watch-care  take, 
Till,  resigned  to  arms  more  loving, 

All  the  children  wake! 


47 


N 


LAUS    MORTIS 

AY,  why  should  I  fear  Death, 

Who  gives  us  life,  and  in  exchange  takes 
breath  ? 


He  is  like  cordial  Spring 
That  lifts  above  the  soil  each  buried  thing ;  — 

Like  Autumn,  kind  and  brief  - 
The   frost   that   chills   the   branches,   frees   the 
leaf;  — 

Like  Winter's  stormy  hours 

That   spread   their  fleece   of   snow   to   save  the 
flowers ;  — 

The  lordliest  of  all  things  — 
Life  lends  us  only  feet,  Death  gives  us  wings ! 

Fearing  no  covert  thrust, 
Let  me  walk  onward,  armed  with  valiant  trust, 

Dreading  no  unseen  knife, 

Across  Death's  threshold  step  from  life  to  life! 
48 


O  all  ye  frightened  folk, 
Whether  ye  wear  a  crown  or  bear  a  yoke, 

Laid  in  one  equal  bed, 
When  once  your  coverlet  of  grass  is  spread, 

What  daybreak  need  you  fear? 
The  love  will  rule  you  there  which  guides  you 
here! 

Where  Life,  the  Sower,  stands, 
Scattering  the  ages  from  his  swinging  hands, 

Thou  waitest,  Reaper  lone, 
Until  the  multitudinous  grain  hath  grown. 

Scythe-bearer,  when  thy  blade 
Harvests  my  flesh,  let  me  be  unafraid ! 

God's  husbandman  thou  art !  — 
In  His  unwithering  sheaves,  O  bind  my  heart ! 


49 


Hob*  Srlumptjaut 


A    PRAYER 

TT7HETHER    my    place   be    Thine    abode 
VV  above, 

Or  earth,  this  school  of  love, 
Not  mine  the  errand  to  the  court  of  kings, 

But  quiet,  homely  things  — 
Not  mine  the  mission  to  the  farthest  sun, 

But  some  more  childlike  one; 
I  do  not  ask  a  seat  at  Thy  right  hand,  — 

Nay,  Father,  bid  me  stand. 


50 


BIRTH 

GOD  thought:  — 
r  A  million  blazing  worlds  were  wrought! 

God  wffl'd:- 

Earth  rose,  while  all  Creation  thrill'd! 

God  spoke :  — 

And  in  The  Garden  love  awoke ! 

God  smiled :  — 

Lo,  in  the  mother's  arms,  a  child! 


51 


THE    GOLDEN    DOOR 

WHEN  I  have  won  to  the  Golden  Door, 
Who  will  open  to  me? 
"  They  who  have  had  on  this  little  earth 
Alms  or  a  smile  from  thee." 

When  I  have  won  to  the  Golden  Door, 

What  will  be  writ  thereon? 
"  This  is  the  gate  of  the  Evermore, 

The  goal  of  the  Evergone." 

When  I  have  won  to  the  Golden  Door, 

What  shall  I  see  beyond? 
"  Work  for  the  lusty,  beds  for  the  tired, 

Love  for  lips  that  are  fond." 

When  I  have  won  to  the  Golden  Door, 

What  will  the  password  be? 
"  Love  is  the  password,  love  is  the  toll, 

Love  is  the  golden  key." 


Ilote 


CREDO 

T  KNOW  no  sin  except  the  lack  of  love, 
J.       I  recognize  the  victory  in  defeat ; 
No  gulf  divides  life  here  from  life  above, 
I  spell  perfection  in  the  incomplete. 

A  foe  to  dogma,  still  I  hold  a  creed, 

For  I  believe  that  all  life  brings  is  good, 

That  sharing  bread  and  wine  with  men  who  need 
Is  the  new  sacrament  of  brotherhood. 

I  know  the  way  we  tread  is  rough  and  long, 
And  yet  to  toil  and  bleed  am  nothing  loth, 

And  thus  I  journey  homeward  with  a  song, 
Since  in  the  very  struggle  lies  my  growth. 

And  when  I  reach  that  last  green  hostelry 

Whence  none  have  ever  yet  been  turned  away, 

The  slumber  will  be  sound  which  falls  on  me, 
Till  dawns  that  longer,  new,  divine  To-day. 

Joy !   only  joy !   for  Love  is  there  and  here  — 
Peace,  only  peace!   though  desperate  my  dis 
tress  ; 

I  find  no  f oeman  in  the  road  but  Fear  — 
To  doubt  is  failure,  and  to  dare,  success ! 


LOVE    IMMORTAL 

f^HURCHES,  nay,  I  count  you  vain,  - 
\^s       Lifting  high  a  gloomy  spire, 
Like  some  frozen  form  of  pain 

Aching  up  to  meet  desire ; 
Standing  from  God's  poor  apart  — 
Granite  walls  and  granite  heart ! 

Sects,  ye  have  your  day,  and  die, 
Eddies  in  the  stream  of  truth,  — 

The  great  current,  sweeping  by, 

Leaves  you  swirled  in  shapes  uncouth, 

Born  to  writhe,  and  glint,  and  woo  — 

Broken  mirrors  of  the  Blue. 

Creeds  !  —  O  captured  heavenly  bird, 
Fluttering  heart  and  folded  wing! 

Shall  ye  see  those  pinions  stirred? 
Can  your  caged  Creation  sing? 

Will  ye  herald  as  your  prize 

What  was  bred  to  soar  the  skies? 

Rites  and  pomp,  what  part  have  ye 
In  the  service  of  the  heart? 
54 


Rituals  are  but  mummery, 

Faith's  white  flame  is  snuffed  by  art; 
Candles  be  but  wick  and  wax, 
Alms  have  grown  the  temple-tax. 

Yet  the  East  is  red  with  dawn, 

Like  a  cross  where  One  hath  bled ! 

And  upon  that  splendor  drawn  — 
Gentle  eyes  and  arms  outspread  — 

See  that  figure  stretched  above ! 

As  God  lives !  its  name  is  Love ! 

Love  that  lights  the  fireless  brands, 
Love  that  cares  for  world  and  wren, 

Bleeding  from  the  broken  hands  — 

Crowned  with  thorns  that  conquer  men ; 

Only  Love's  great  eyes  inspire 

Church,  sect,  creed  to  glow  with  fire. 

Yet  our  lips  shall  have  no  sneer 
For  the  spire,  the  mosque,  the  ark, 

Broken  symbols  shall  be  dear 

If  they  point  us  through  the  dark,  — 

Laws  and  scripture  served  our  youth 

Who  have  grown  the  sons  of  truth ! 


55 


BETHLEHEM    MORN 

INTO  the  city  of  David  rode 
A  man  and  a  girl  to  a  mean  abode, 
He  the  carpenter,  staunch  of  limb, 
She  the  virgin  espoused  to  him. 

And  lo !   in  the  pastures  white  with  sheep 
The  flocks  were  stirring,  aroused  from  sleep, 
While  far  from  the  hillsides,  fresh  with  mom, 
The  bleating  of  hungry  lambs  was  borne ; 

And  as  through  the  warm  air,  moist  with  dew, 
Drifted  the  cry  of  each  answering  ewe, 
The  woman  flushed,  with  a  sudden  start, 
And  pressed  both  hands  beneath  her  heart. 

"  Mary,  why  dost  thou  ride  so  ill  ?  " 
Mine  eyes  were  turned  to  yonder  hill. 

"  Mary,  why  dost  thou  start  with  fear?  " 
The  promised  day  of  the  Lord  is  near! 


56 


THE    WIDOWS    SON 

OHOW  they  welcomed  him  once  more 
The  wondering  lads  of  Nain ! 
He  stood  before  the  widow's  door 
Whom  Death  had  robbed  in  vain! 

And  as  he  joined  them  in  their  sports, 
What  must  his  heart  have  said  — 

He  who  had  lain  within  the  courts 
Where  sleep  the  fleshless  dead! 

And  she  whose  arms  won  back  their  all 

From  the  eternal  years, 
Ah,  God !  behind  her  cottage  wall, 

What  gratitude  and  tears! 

Now  son  and  mother  both  are  dust, 

With  all  the  lads  they  knew, 
No  prophet  stayed  Death's  second  thrust 

Beneath  the  Syrian  blue. 

But  still  the  gentle  hand  is  strong 
Which  touched  the  unquicken'd  clay ; 

Wherever   Sorrow's   children   throng 
The  Nazarene  walks  to-day ! 

57 


SHEKINAH 

ARK  that  rode  the  Deluge  wave 
Found  on  Ararat  her  grave, 
All  her  stalwart  gopher-wood 
Rotted  in  that  solitude: 

Ark  that  held  the  holy  things, 
Shadow'd  by  the  golden  wings, 
Fallen  into  dust,  is  blown 
Round  the  hills  where  once  it  shone. 

Yet  the  Covenant  is  true, 
God  hath  kept  His  oath  with  you; 
In  the  humblest  heart,  behold 
Something  costlier  than   gold !  — 
Hush !  within  that  quivering  shrine 
Broods  the  Immanent  Divine ! 


58 


ILotoe 


THE     SEA    OF    FAITH 

HAVE  you  lifted  anchor  and  hoisted  sail? 
Does  your  ship  stand  out  to  sea? 
Have  you  scoff'd  at  peril  and  dared  the  gale 
Where  the  waves  and  the  winds  are  free? 

Is  safety  a  thought  that  you  count  disgrace 

When  duty  and  danger  call? 
Would  you  stand  on  the  deck  with  a  smile  on 
your  face 

And  perish  the  first  of  all? 

Is  your  old  sail  salt  with  the  frozen  foam 

And  gray  as  a  sea-gull's  wing? 
Do  you  never  long  for  land  and  home 

When  the  great  waves  clutch  and  cling? 

O  the  Sea  of  Faith  hath  storms,  God  knows, 

And  the  haven  is  very  far, 
But  he  is  my  brother-in-blood  who  goes 

With  his  eye  on  the  polar  star, 

With  his  hand  on  the  canvas,  his  foot  on  the 

ropes, 

His  heart  beating  loud  in  his  breast, 
59 


With  dauntless   courage  and  quenchless  hopes 
And  the  old  divine  unrest! 

The  swift  keels  chafe  in  the  Harbor  of  Doubt, 
They  were  built  for  the  glorious  blue, 

Where   the   stout   masts  'bend   and   the   sailors 

shout, 
And  the  wave-drench'd  compass  is  true! 

Then  here's  my  hand,  O  lad  of  my  heart, 

O  dauntless  spirit  and  free! 
The  tide  is  high !    They  strain,  they  start !  — 

The  ships  of  the  infinite  sea! 


60 


THE     ANSWER 

w  TV /TAKE   of  my   heart,"   I   cried,   "a  lyre 
J..VA  whereon 

The  wind  of  man's  desire  shall  sweep  some 

string 
Into  immortal  music;    utterly  gone 

My  dearest  hopes  unless  I  gain  this  thing ;  " 
Then  the  calm  Voice :   "  Nay,  son,  thy  prayer  is 

wild, 

But   thou    mayest    feed,    for   Me,    an    hungry 
child." 


"  Give  me  to  die  in  some  supreme  emprise, 
And,  falling,  shout,  'They  flee,  the  field  is 

ours ; ' 
When    Stephen   raised   to   Heav'n   those   angel 

eyes, 
The  stones  that  crush'd  his  body  seem'd  like 

flowers ; 

A  martyr's  or  a  warrior's  death  be  mine !  " 
"  Nay,  dreamer,  thou  must  learn  to  serve,  not 
shine." 

61 


HLobe 


"  Yea,  let  me  serve ;    be  mine  the  holy  wrath 
Which  deals  the  heart  of  Vice  its  deadliest 

thrust, 
Better  a  thousand  perils  in  my  path 

Than  such  sad  safety   where  the  roads   are 

dust;" 

"  Nay,  child,  thy  peril  is  thy  restless  will,  — 
Thy  task  is  patience ;   suffer  and  be  still !  " 

"  O  Infinite  Love,  I  lean  my  heart  on  Thine ! 

The  humblest  task  Thou  hast  my  joy  shall  be ! 
Behold,  the  sandiest  pathways  grow  divine 

If   so   these   leagues   of   desert   lead   toward 

Thee; 

Come  joy  or  pain,  Thy  will  not  mine  be  done." 
"  At  last  thy  prayer  is  answered,  O  my  son ! " 


A    SIMPLE    STORY 

SHE  sewed  the  little  caps  and  frocks, 
And  bought  the  cradle-bed, 
"  Though  I  may  die,  he  shall  not  want 
For  anything,"  she  said. 

One  morn  within  her  arms  they  laid 

The  long-awaited  guest  — 
The  mother  lived,  but,  ah,  the  child 

Was  cold  upon  her  breast! 

And  sadly  in  that  careful  drawer, 

With  tiny  clothes  replete, 
They  left  the  fair  white  things  untouched, 

All  save  the  winding-sheet  — 

All  save  a  little  doll-like  robe, 
Fetched  forth  with  tears  to  be 

The  silent  stranger's  only  dress 
Until  eternity. 


HER    TRANSPLANTED    ROSE 

TO    M.    C.    G. 

HE  came  to  her  in  the  early  dawn, 
And  lived  in  her  arms  one  day, 
But  the  little  baby  soul  was  tired, 
It  had  fared  such  a  long,  long  way. 

She  thought  it  only  an  earthly  flower, 
Though  the  sweetest  ever  blown, 

Nor  guess'd  how  in  that  blossoming  life 
Was  an  angel  made  her  own. 

But  a  whisper  grew  at  the  lips  of  the  world, 
The  sun  rode,  hush'd  and  high, 

She  look'd,  and  caught  the  eye  of  God 
As  the  sorrowing  winds  went  by ; 

And  her  heart  lay  close  to  the  Heart  of  All, 
While  the  morning  held  its  breath, 

Ah  me !   the  messenger  stole  so  near, 

And  the  name  on  his  wings  was  Death! 

And  in  the  silence  the  truth  grew  plain  — 
How  a  finer  soil  than  ours 
64 


Is  needed  to  ripen  the  fairest  souls 
For  the  garden  of  heavenly  flowers. 

And  the  child,  when  the  Summons  came  at  dusk, 

Look'd  up  with  its  eyes  of  blue 
Straight  into  the  vision,  as  though  to  say, 
"  How  long  I  have  watched  for  you !  " 

Then  fell  back  cold  on  its  mother's  breast  — 
And  she  knew,  though  her  eyes  were  dim, 

While  this  meant  torturing  grief  for  her, 
It  was  endless  peace  for  him. 

And  the  flowers  they  sent  to  the  lonely  room 

Wither'd  beside  her  bed, 
But  her  little  immortal  flower  was  safe;  — 

She  smiled  when  they  call'd  it  dead! 


65 


&viuinj)ijant 


THE    STEPS 

SEIZE  your  staff!    beyond  this  height 
We  shall  find  the  Infinite  Light ! 
Gird  your  thigh !    this  sword  shall  hew 
Paths  that  reach  the  untroubled  blue! 
Though  dark  mountains  form  the  stair, 
It  is  ours  to  climb  and  dare ! 
Law,  truth,  love  —  the  peaks  are  three : 
Sinai,  Olives,  Calvary ! 


66 


JCviumpijaui 


ON    THE    PATH 

/""\H,  the  sea  is  so  gray, 
V_y        And  the  sky  is  so  black; 
Thorns  and  briers  choke  the  way, 
Must  I  die,  or  turn  back?  " 

Underfoot  is  the  trail, 
And  the  Goal  is  not  far; 

On  the  sea  is  a  sail, 
In  the  ski/  is  a  star! 


TO    AN    OAK 

OTIME  -  DEFIER !     standing    near    the 
way 
Where  thousands  pass  who  are  but  leaves  to 

thee, 

Clinging  to  the  frail  bough,  Humanity, 
And  both  alike  earth-destined,  thou  and  they, 
I  look  on  thee  with  wonder,  —  let  me  stay 
Beneath  thy  stalwart  shadow,  till  I  see 
Clearly  the  vision  thou  wouldst  bring  to  me: 
I  shall  surmount  defeat,  survive  decay! 
Thy  soil  is  Earth,  and  mine  is  God;    if  I 

Could  thrust  my  roots  down  with  such  faith 

as  thine, 
What  leaves  and  boughs  of  love  would  greet  the 

sky, 
Their  buried  lips  thirst-quench'd  at  springs 

divine, 

Yea,  thy  hale  permanence  were  less  than  mine, 
I  who,  though  slain  by  Death,  can  never  die ! 


68 


A    CHALLENGE 

DEFEAT  and  I  are  strangers ;   though  the 
scourge 

Of  wild  injustice,  knotted  with  all  wrongs, 
Writhe  round  rc^  spirit,  if  I  cannot  smile, 
Then  write  me  craven,  say,  "  He  met  the  test 
Sent  to  all  souls,  only  to  faint  and  fall, 
His  courage  grovels,  let  us  call  him  slave !  " 
O   rather,   when   the   mad   Hands   through   the 

dark, 

Unseen  and  self -provoked,  shall  lash  my  will, 
Let  me  the  stauncher  bare  me  to  the  blow, 
Rise,  hide  my  hurt,   suppress  the  groan,   fold 

arms, 

Erect  and  scornful,  though  my  back  may  bleed, 
Though  flesh,  nerve,  sensibilities,  cry  out ! 
Not  otherwise  Zenobia  must  have  felt, 
Fettered  with  golden  fetters,  when  she  walked 
Behind  Aurelian's  chariot,  still  a  queen ! 
Not  otherwise  Napoleon,  when  he  trod 
That  abject  island,  where  the  very  guards 
Felt  him  the  master,  though  they  bore  the  guns 
And  he  was  weaponless,  the  man  whose  eye 
Could  daunt  Disaster  and  command  the  world. 
69 


Thus  would  I  live  and  thus  would  die ;   I  come 
God  knows !  of  a  long  lineage  of  kings :  — 
Burke,  Cromwell,  Luther,  Paul,  and  Socrates, 
Emerson,  Milton,  Cranmer,  Charlemagne, 
Columbus,  Tolstoi,  Lincoln,  Augustine  — 
The  monarchs  of  the  spirit  in  all  times, 
Exalted  thrones  defiant  of  decay. 
Then  hurl  all  thunderbolts  upon  my  brow, 
Dash  me,  O  life,  with  waves  of  salt  and  blood, 
Empty  thy  quiver,  Sorrow,  in  my  breast, 
Ye  cannot,  O  ye  Powers,  compel  my  soul, 
For,  rob  me  as  ye  will,  three  things  are  left 
Which  make  your  fury  impotent  and  vain : 
That  pride  in  self  that  lifts  me  from  the  worm, 
These  sympathies  that  join  me  to  my  kind, 
This  Higher  Hope  that  hands  me  on  to  God, 
And  armors  me  in  immortality ! 


70 


WHAT    IS    HEAVEN? 

I  HEARD  a  preacher  talk  of  Heaven,  a  land 
Reserved  for  him  and  his,  the  Lord's  elect ; 
He  threatened  vengeance  with  a  clench'd  right 

hand 
On  doubters  of  the  dogmas  of  his  sect. 

"  One  shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left ; 

What   widow   knows,   wild   with   the   parting 

kiss, 
But  God  may  choose  that  she  remain  bereft, 

Divorced  by  Hell's  impassable  abyss? 

"  A  mother  will  not  meet  her  child  when  Death 
Disjoins  them,  if  his  soul  be  unredeemed, 

These  loves  of  earth  are  fugitive  as  breath 
And  have  no  weight  with  God."     Thus   he 
blasphemed. 

Merely  a  boy,  as  I  beheld  the  sky 

Through   the   church   windows,   I   grew   sick 

with  fear, 
As  fatherless  as  Hagar's  child  felt  I, 

Beggared  of  hope  and  naked  of  all  cheer. 
71 


I  left  the  barren  room,  while  still  the  flock 

Were  worshipping  their  God,  or  thought  they 
were,  — 

"  Joy !  "  smiled  the  flowers,  "  Peace !  "  sang  each 
patient  rock, 

"  Love !  "   shouted   forth   each   wild   bird-chor 
ister. 

And  happy  children  raced  along  a  brook, 

And  matched  with  innocent  boasts  their  rival 
speed ; 

But  service  now  was  out,  —  I  saw  rebuke 
In  faces  blackened  by  a  loveless  creed. 

Then  flashed  God's  truth !    and  from  that  day 

the  lies 
Framed  by  the  creeds  of  men,  which  mock  our 

earth, 

Burlesque  the  sun  and  travesty  the  skies, 
I  value  only  at  their  worthless  worth. 

Heaven  ?    What  is  Heaven  !    Escape  from  burn 
ing  coals, 

Or  simply  love?     Well,  one  thing  it  is  never: 
An  aristocracy  of  virtuous  souls 

Where  the  self-righteous  sun  themselves  for 
ever! 

72 


To  think  that  Love's  creator  rashly  hurled 
To  outer  darkness  such  a  masterpiece !  — 

Love  —  the  best  gift  in  this  or  any  world, 
Made  perfect,  to  be  shattered  in  caprice. 

A  pagan,  bowing  down  to  sea  or  sun 
Or  harmless  idol  on  his  cabin  shelf, 

Is  nearer  Truth  than  you  whose  God  is  one 
Less  good  and  merciful  than  you  yourself. 

If  God  is  God,  and  if  His  name  be  Love, 
Can  He  elect  or  damn  like  some  mad  Fate? 

Far  better  say  no  life  exists  above 

Than  bend  the  knee  to  worship  infinite  Hate ! 

Love  must  survive,  a  thing  of  all  delight, 

In  this  fair  Heaven  between  the  grass  and 

blue 
And    in    what    Heavens    may    lie    beyond    our 

sight,  — 
But  who  elects  it?    is  it  God,  or  you? 


OUT    OF   THE    DEPTHS 

TORN  upon  Thy  wheel, 
FouPd  with  blood  and  dust, 
Still  my  heart  can  feel, 
Still  trust; 

Still  my  lips  can  urge, 
"  Heal  me  with  Thy  sword, 
Cleanse  me  with  Thy  scourge, 
Lord,  Lord!" 

Though  a  bleeding  clod, 

Faint  with  thirst  and  pain, 

Still  my  hopes,  dear  God, 
Remain ; 

Yea,  and  more  than  hope : 
Faith!   a  prayer!    a  wing! 

Even  on  Calvary's  slope, 
I  sing! 


ZUtoi 


O  TROUBLED  OVER   MANY  THINGS 

O   TROUBLED  over  many  things, 
Choose  thou  the  better  part,  — 
Service  unconscious  of  itself 
And  childlikeness  of  heart. 

Why  breathe  Earth's  heavy  atmosphere, 

Forgetful  one  can  fly, 
When  the  high  zenith,  Infinite  Love, 

Allures  us  to  the  sky? 

The  virtues  hide  their  vanquish'd  fires 

Within  that  whiter  flame, 
Till  conscience  grows  irrelevant 

And  duty  but  a  name ! 


75 


III. 

"  Love  covereth  all  sins." 

—  Proverbs  x.  12. 

Love  scarce  is  love  that  never  knows 
The  sweetness  of  forgiving." 

—  Whittier. 


77 


Untie  &rtum))ijant 


THE    GLASS 

TO  the  Great  Mirror  toddled  the  wee  child, 
And  viewed  his  puzzled  eyes  there,  won 
der-wild  : 
"Who   are   you,    baby?      Are   you   me?      Sav 

true!" 
He  scarce  could  guess,  but  all  too  soon  he  knew ! 

To  the  Great  Mirror  strode  the  man  mature, 
Passion  and  guilt  defaced  a  brow  once  pure; 
He  groaned,  "  Is  that  myself?     Thou  shade  of 

hell, 
Would  God  thou  couldst  deceive !     I  know  thee 

well !  " 


79 


Hotor 


SIN'S    FOLIAGE 

DO  you  ask  why  this  woman  has  always  a 
shadow  on  her  face? 

In  her  girlhood  she  planted  in  •  virgin  soil  a 
sweet  sin, 

And  she  looked  only  for  joy  from  the  shoots, 
tender  and  fresh, 

But  when  years  passed,  and  Memory  had  wat 
ered  it, 

And  Remorse  had  digged  about  and  dunged  it, 

And  Conscience,  the  owl,  had  hooted  from  its 
branches  night  and  day, 

She  learned  that  she  had  planted  the  seeds 
thereof  in  her  own  soul,  and  that  whilst 
the  soil  grew  thinner  the  roots  had  waxed 
longer  and  the  branches  mightier, 

And  now  she  sits  where  the  sunlight  can  never 
enter,  in  the  dense  shadow  of  the  boughs, 

And  strives  to  stay  her  hunger  with  their  fruit. 


80 


STriumpfjant 


ONE    WOMAN 

THE  souls  of  Strauss  and  Schubert 
Swept  through  the  violins, 
But  what  cared  she  who  danced  apart  — 
She,  alone  with  her  sins ! 

For  under  the  roses  and  diamonds, 
And  back  of  the  lips  that  smiled, 

Sat  Memory  holding  The  Secret, 
As  a  mother  holds  her  child ! 


81 


BETRAYED 

TT7IIOSQ  has  lived  to  love  and  bless, 
rr       Given  nay  for  nay  and  yes  for  yes, 
Will  find  my  -fable  foolishness. 

Albeit  he  had  thought  to  woo  her, 
When  he  met  happiness  he  drew  her 
Apart  from  all  men's  sight,  and  slew  her. 

Yet  were  his  hands  and  conscience  clean ; 

Some  monstrous  Folly  rose  unseen 

To  teach  him  crimes  he  could  not  mean. 

His  lips  keep  up  a  brave  disguise, 

But  one  can  read  within  his  eyes 

Such  thoughts  as  these,  beneath  all  lies : 

« 

"  Only  to  think  that,  poised  above 
A  bosom  softer  than  a  dove, 
My  hand  should  stab  the  heart  I  love  I 

"  One  fierce  caress,  one  playful  blow  — 
Her  life-blood  stained  her  breast  of  snow ; 
Yet,  O  my  God,  how  could  I  know  1 " 
82 


&rittmj)i)cint 


fl*  /VzZZ'/i  from  Heav'n  to  Hell, 
In  one  mad  moment's  fateful  spell,  — 
For  you,  for  you,  this  parable! 


&rfumi)t)ant 


TO    THE    MOON 

SISTER,  what  Death  which  finds  no  god  to 
quicken 
Infects    that    sky    where    thou    wast    set    of 

old?  — 

For  now  thou  liest,  leper-white  and  stricken, 
With  shrunken  breasts  and  cold. 


How  came  the  passionate  fires  of  love  to  lan 
guish, 
Sucked  from  the  fierce  veins  of  thy  sire,  the 

Sun? 

O  wrinkle-browed  and  barren,  whence  thine  an 
guish? 
Whisper  it,  hapless  one ! 

Art  thou  Heaven's  broken  heart?     When  Earth 

beneath  thee 

Forsook  love's  orbit,  innocent  and  fair, 
And  followed  paths  of  sin,  did  Fate  bequeath 

thee 

The  task  of  watching  there  ?  — 
84 


Watching  with  sunken  eyes  and  pallid  features 
And  horror-smitten  face  as  white  as  snow 

This   home   of   profligate   and   sorrowing   crea 
tures 
That  mocks  thee  from  below? 


85 


LOST 

NIGHT  scattered  gold-dust  in  the  eyes  of 
Earth, 

My  heart  was  blinded  by  the  excess  of  stars, 
As,  filled  with  youth  and  joy,  I  kept  the  Way. 

The  solitary  and  unweaponed  Sun 

Slew  all  the  hosts  of  darkness  with  a  smile, 

And  it  was  Dawn.    And  still  I  kept  the  Way. 

The  Winds,  those  hounds  that  only  God  can 

leash, 

Bayed  on  my  track,  and  made  the  morning  wild 
With  loud  confusion,  but  I  kept  the  Way. 

The    hours    climbed    high.      Peace,    where   the 

Zenith  broods, 

Fell,  a  blue  feather  from  the  wings  of  Heav'n : 
Lo!   it  was  Noon.     And  still  I  kept  the  Way. 

At    length     one    met    me    as    my     footsteps 

flagged,  — 

Within  her  eyes  oblivion,  on  her  lips 
Delirious  dreams  —  and  I  forgot  the  Way. 

86 


And  still  we  wander  —  who  knows  whitherward ! 
Our  sandals  torn,  in  either  face  despair, 
Passion  burnt  out  —  God !  I  have  lost  the  Way. 

O  for  that  dusty  trail,  the  stones,  the  thorns! 
These  meadow  flowers  they  burn  me  like  hell's 

flame. 

Harlot,  I  hate  thee !     O  the  Way !    the  Way ! 
Before  I  die,  one  glimpse  1  the  Way !  the  Way ! 


87 


THE    THREE 

MARY  of  Nazareth,  loving  and  kind, 
The  mission  of  Him  she  bore  divined 
Vaguely  and  dim,  with  a  wondering  mind. 

Mary  of  Bethany,  gentle  and  fair, 

Gave  Him  what  cheer  her  home  could  spare, 

And  smiled  with  the  peace  of  quiet  prayer. 

Soiled  with  the  dust  of  the  gazing  street, 
Stealing  in  where  He  sat  at  meat, 
Mary  the  Magdalen  kissed  His  feet. 

Mary  the  virgin  marvel'd  with  fear, 
Mary  the  listener  lent  Him  her  ear, 
But  Mary  the  prodigal  faltered  near,  — 

Tho'  wonder  and  loathing  filled  the  place, 
And  Simon  counted  her  touch  disgrace, 
She    bent    o'er    the    Master    her    tear-stain'd 
face,  — 

And  her  wealth  of  warm,  dark  hair,  unbound, 
About  His  feet  she  wound  and  wound  — 
Her  sobbing  was  the  only  sound. 
88 


Mary  the  hostess  made  Him  her  guest, 
He  had  lain  on  Mary  the  Mother's  breast, 
But  the  Magdalen's  gift  was  costliest: 

She  brought  her  past,  its  bliss  and  shame, 
Strange  sins,  wild  memories  fierce  as  flame  — 
And  in  her  tears  was  wash'd  from  blame ! 

One  sat  with  patient  joy  at  His  side, 

One  stood  by  the  Roman  cross  where  He  died, 

One  gave  herself  and  her  broken  pride. 


89 


DISCORD 

BLUE  eyes  blurr'd  with  weeping, 
How  ye  hurt  the  grace 
Of  untroubled  twilights, 
Night's  unwrinkled  face! 

Still  the  boughs  of  April 
Greet  their  annual  guests, 

Still  the  new-born  singers 
Stir  a  thousand  nests. 

Brooks  and  fields  and  pastures 

Always  seem  so  glad !  — 
Oh,  how  strange  that  only 

You  and  I  are  sad ! 

Oh,  how  strange  that  discord 

Is  a  human  thing, 
That  God's  orchestra  can  play, 

With  one  broken  string! 

Though  the  other  instruments  — 
Joined  in  faultless  tune  — 

Render  perfect  symphonies 
—  Winter,  Stars,  and  June, 
90 


Inharmonious  music 
From  this  human  lyre, 

Smites  the  ear  of  angels 
And  condemns  the  choir. 

Master  of  the  players, 
In  whose  smile  is  fame, 

Spoilt  is  all  our  music  — 
Hearken  to  our  shame !  — 

If  Thou  canst,  these  broken 
Harps  again  employ; 

Tune  them  to  Thy  glory 
In  the  key  of  joy! 

Then  shall  pass  from  memory 

This  discordant  din 
Which  disturbs  Creation  — 

Sorrow,  Care,  and  Sin. 

Then  shall  rise  forever 

From  the  cloud  and  clod 
Love's  ma j  estic  chorus :  — 
"We  rejoice,  O  God!" 


91 


THE    DISCIPLINE    OF    FAILURE 

HERE  is  what  the  years  at  last  have  taught 
me, 

This   the   creed   that   life,   not  man,   has   fash 
ioned  :  — 

Suffering  wrought  by  guilt  is  never  final  — 
Retribution  is  but  reclamation, 
Punishment  remedial,  self -redemptive, 
Sin  the  scourge  wherewith  Love  drives  us  sun 
ward, 

And  remorse  no  drowning  sea  of  anguish, 
But  the  tear-bath  whence  we  rise  unsullied. 
Like  a  child  we  learn  to  walk  by  stumbling  — 
Learn  to  shun  the  flame  by  tortured  fingers; 
Though  the  scars  may  burn  our  flesh  and  spirit 
Through  Earth's  little  years,  dust-born,  grave- 
destined, 

God  has  other  worlds,  and  life  is  timeless ; 
We  shall  find  the  deepest  wounds  self-healing, 
When  Love's  surgery  makes  plain  its  purpose! 
Thus  believing,  I  have  come  to  love  you, 
All  who  climb  with  me  from  self  to  freedom. 
Let  me  kiss  thy  lips,  O  fallen  brother! 
Let  my  arms  enfold  thee,  fallen  sister! 
92 


Let  me  trust  and  love  you  back  to  honor, 
Let  me  draw  you  to  the  Great  Forgiveness,  — 
Not  as  one  above  who  stoops  to  save  you, 
Not  as  one  who  stands  aside  with  counsel, 
Nay,  as  he  who  says,  "  I,  too,  was  wounded 
With  the  stones,  the  briers  —  I,  too,  was  poi 
soned 

With  the  flowers  that  sting,  but  now,  arisen, 
I  am  struggling  up  the  path  beside  you; 
Rise!    and  let  us  face  these  heights  together." 


93 


IN   A    FAR   COUNTBY 

WHEN  God  made  the  last  of  his  crea 
tures, 

Man,  who  should  reign, 
He  gave  him  the  strong,  white  body, 
And  the  reasoning  brain, 

A  voice  wrhich  could  mould  its  language 

To  a  silver  tone, 
A  love  that  was  more  than  passion  — 

A  will  like  His  own! 

But  the  years  flowed  by  —  dark  waters 

Troubled  with  rain, 
Till  a  sullied  stream  confronted 

The  sky's  disdain,  — 

And  man,  with  the  wants  immortal 

And  the  visions  brief, 
Grew  fain  of  the  terrible  pleasures 

That  are  worse  than  grief, 

And  there  throve  such  curious  vices 
For  his  princely  mirth, 
94 


That  He  who  had  shapen  this  creature 
From  the  sands  of  earth 

Looked  down  on  a  brain  that  faltered, 

A  song  that  was  dumb, 
On  beds  of  lust  and  of  sickness, 

On  brothel  and  slum. 

But  think  je  the  Artist  repented? 

Or  cast  to  the  void 
The  work  He  found  good  in  the  making, 

As  it  lay,  self -destroyed  ? 

Nay,  the  infinite  Workman  ponder'd, 

"  From  him  We  have  wrought 
There  is  only  one  gift  withholden 
Ere  he  reach  to  Our  thought. 

"  If  his  heart  lack  Grace,  it  is  only 

A  lair  for  pride; 

He  must  kneel  at  Our  feet  for  a  season, 
Ere  he  reign  at  Our  side. 

"  We  will  give  him  great  prodigal  cities  — 

Tyre,  Babylon,  Rome,  — 
He  shall  eat  of  their  husks  till  he  famish, 
And  his  feet  turn  home ! 
95 


"  He  must  pray,  he  must  serve,  he  must  suffer, 

Till,  clean  of  his  stain, 
He  is  humble  and  meet  for  Our  presence  — 
Made  perfect  through  pain." 

And  man  hears  the  call  of  his  Father, 

And  dares  to  rejoice; 
Even  now,  though  Earth's  harlotries  lure  him, 

He  leans  tow'rd  the  Voice! 


96 


2Lobe 


L'ENVOI 

OLOVE  triumphant  over  guilt  and  sin, 
My  soul  is  soiled,  but  Thou  shalt  enter  in ; 
My  feet  must  stumble  if  I  walk  alone, 
Lonely  my  heart,  till  beating  by  Thine  own, 
My  will  is  weakness  till  it  rest  in  Thine, 
Cut  off,  I  wither,  thirsting  for  the  Vine, 
My  deeds  are  dry  leaves  on  a  sapless  tree, 
My  life  is  lifeless  till  it  live  in  Thee ! 


97 


IV. 

"I  do  love 
My  country's  good." 

—  Shakespeare. 


99 


Hotoc 


HAIL,    AMERICA! 

HAIL!    child  of  peak  and  prairie, 
Where'er  the  morning  breaks 
Between  the  two  gray  oceans, 

Between  the  Gulf  and  Lakes ! 
O  wrested  from  the  wilderness 

And  sown  with  sweat  and  tears ! 
O  answer  of  the  patriot's  prayer, 

Goal  of  the  pioneers !  — 
Rich  fabric  of  the  fifty  States, 

Woven  at  Freedom's  loom, 
Three  hundred  years  of  history, 

Three  thousand  miles  of  bloom ! 
Stand  up,  good  fellows !    lift  each  glass, 

And  join  the  toast  with  me: 
America!    America! 
Our  Motherland,  America! 

A  health  to  thine  and  Thee! 


101 


Hotoe 


THE    COMING    SINGER 

NONE  of  the  old  tunes,  poet! 
Give  us  the  Song  of  the  Real ! 
Out  of  the  stuff  of  Freedom 
Fashion  a  new  ideal! 

No  verse  in  a  patron's  palace 

From  mouths  that  sing  for  a  crust, 

But  from  lips  on  fire  with  the  soul's  desire 
That  sing  because  they  must! 

For  this  is  the  land  of  our  winning, 
And  the  Vision  grows  and  grows! 

Shod  with  the  sands  of  Cuba, 

Crowned  with  the  Klondike  snows ! 

A  Mother  of  fifty  daughters, 
Sunburnt  and  rude  and  strong, 

She  has  had  the  glory  of  conquest, 
And  she  waits  the  wonder  of  song. 

By  our  fathers'  swords!   we  love  her! 

And  every  child  of  her  brood  — 
These  starry  States  that  cluster 

In  the  pure,  proud  sisterhood ! 
102 


Hotot  ITuumjpljaut 


We  will  dip  no  quill  with  feathers ; 

We  will  write  with  a  blunted  pen ; 
In  the  ink  of  our  sweat  we  will  find  it  yet, 

The  song  that  is  fit  for  men ! 

And  the  woodsman  he  shall  sing  it, 
And  his  axe  shall  mark  the  time; 

And  the  bearded  lips  of  the  boatman 
While  his  oar-blades  fall  in  rhyme; 

And  the  man  with  his  fist  on  the  throttle, 
And  the  man  with  his  foot  on  the  brake, 

And  the  man  who  will  scoff  at  danger 
And  die  for  a  comrade's  sake; 

And  the  Hand  that  wrought  the  Vision 
With  prairie  and  peak  and  stream 

Shall  guide  the  hand  of  the  workman 
And  help  him  to  trace  his  dream !  — 

Till  the  rugged  lines  grow  perfect, 
And  round  to  a  faultless  whole, 

For  the  West  will  have  found  her  singer 
When  her  singer  has  found  his  soul ! 


103 


THE    NEW    PATRIOT 

WHO  is  the  patriot?     he  who  lights 
The  torch  of  war  from  hill  to  hiU? 
Or  he  who  kindles  on  the  heights 
The  beacon  of  a  world's  good-will? 

Who  is  the  patriot?    he  who  nails 

A  flag  to  some  defiant  pole? 
Or  he  who  follows  dangerous  trails, 

And  guides  a  people  to  its  goal? 

Who  is  the  patriot?    he  who  sends 
A  boastful  challenge  o'er  the  sea? 

Or  he  who  sows  the  earth  with  friends, 
And  reaps  world-wide  fraternity? 

Who  is  the  patriot?     Bonaparte, 
Who  made  a  continent  his  prey? 

Or  Tolstoi  of  the  gentle  heart, 

Who  shares  the  peasant's  toilsome  day? 

Is  it  the  Scribe,  race-proud,  serene, 
Smiling  his  scorn  from  Moses'  seat? 

Or  the  compassionate  Nazarene, 
With  Roman  publicans  at  meat? 
104 


ILofot 


Who  is  the  patriot?     It  is  he 

Who  knows  no  boundary,  race,  or  creed, 
Whose  nation  is  humanity, 

Whose  countrymen  all  souls  that  need; 

Whose  first  allegiance  is  vowed 

To  the  fair  land  that  gave  him  birth, 

Yet  serves  among  the  doubting  crowd 
The  broader  interests  of  Earth. 

The  soil  that  bred  the  pioneers 

He  loves  and  guards,  yet  loves  the  more 
That  larger  land  without  frontiers, 

Those  wider  seas  without  a  shore. 

If  duty  calls,  the  first  to  die 

On  fields  of  honor  and  of  fame, 

But  readier,  where  the  vanquish'd  lie, 
To  heal  the  wounded,  raise  the  lame. 

Who  is  the  patriot?    Only  he 

Whose  business  is  the  general  good, 

Whose  keenest  sword  is  sympathy, 
Whose  dearest  flag  is  brotherhood. 


105 


THE    MASTERS 

•INCOMPARABLE  white  galaxy  of  suns! 
JL        O  stars  of  song  whose  lustre  blinds  the 

day  — 
^Eschylus,      Homer,      Shakespeare,  —  deathless 

ones 
Holding  on  high  your  proud  and  lonely  way ! 

Rulers  of  Night's  domain  of  domeless  space, 
Transcendent  thrones,  victorious  over  Time, 

Slaying  with  splendor  from  your  distant  place 
A  thousand  flickering  satellites  of  rhyme! 

God !   what  are  we,  that  underneath  such  skies 
We  dare  to  light  our  tapers !     From  afar 

The  constellations  watch  this  mad  emprise: 
A  puny  candle  challenging  a  star! 


106 


A    MODERN    POET 

radiant   spirits   who,   the   suns   of 
song, 

Shine  with  the  distant  permanence  of  a  star, 
A  calm,  incomparable,  undying  throng, 
Rebuke  our  flickering  tapers  from  afar. 

And  yet  the  modern  poet  'neath  that  vast 

Confuting  sky,  may  walk  with  unbowed  head ; 

Those  stellar  voices  sang  a  withering  past,  — 
Their  art  is  deathless,  but  their  wrorld  is  dead ! 

Slain  on  the  lips  hath  perish'd  praise  of  kings, 
Sceptres  have  bent  like  straw,  and  rust  makes 

free 
With  crowns  and  castles  —  Pride's  poor  trivial 

things  — 

As  Winter's  white  tooth  gnaws  the  helpless 
tree! 

Dead   are  the  masters,  —  now  the  slaves   shall 

rule; 

Still  blind  with  tyranny,  ignorant  of  their 
power ;  — 

107 


<Er  lump!)  ant 


Democracy,  unchain'd  to  sect  and  school, 

Strides    darkly    forth   to    meet    her    destined 
hour! 

For  lo !   at  last  within  the  barbarous  West 

A  fair,  unfetter'd  land  has  risen  and  reigned, 

Throned    in    the    crags,    and    from    her   tawny 

breast 
The  milk  of  liberty  has  long  been  drained, 

Till  there  have  grown  fierce  daughters  in  her 
gates, 

Guarding  the  jealous  portals  of  the  free, 
A  stalwart  sisterhood  of  equal  States, 

Hand  clasping  hand  with  love  from  sea  to  sea ! 

Great  Motherland  arisen  from  the  waves, 

Lake-girdled,  polar-crown'd,  and  tropic-shod, 

Who  bought  her  freedom  with  a  million  graves, 
And  never  bowed  the  knee  except  to  God! 

Shall  feudal  rhymesters  of  an  outworn  brood, 
In  pale,  perfunctory  verse  sing  such  as  she? 

Rather  a  race  unkempt,  athletic,  rude, 

Rough  as  the  prairies,  tameless  as  the  sea! 
108 


Yet  not  alone  upon  these  rugged  coasts 

Hath  Freedom  raised  her  throne;    she  reigns 
where'er 

Serfs  cry  for  vengeance  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
Or  exiled  peasants  grasp  the  sword  of  prayer. 

True  to  their  vision  were  the  bards  of  old, 

But  this  more  glorious  dream  olemands  new 

wings ; 

Hail  him  who  soared  to  heights  remote  and  cold, 
Thrice  hail,  who  loves  the  People's  cause,  and 
sings ! 

He  may  not  lord  those  empires  of  the  skies 
Where  art,  immutable,  immortal,  gleams, 

But  he  will  strip  the  scales  from  slumbering  eyes, 
And    nations    half-awake    shall    learn    their 
dreams ! 

Great  God!    give  us  to  strike  the  People's  lyre 
Once,  only  once !    then  perish  if  we  must ! 

One  hour  of  life,  to  lead  that  grander  choir 
Whose  noblest  notes  will  echo  o'er  our  dust! 

And  when  Thy  hand  has  seal'd  these  lips  with 

clay, 

And  we  are  soil  for  Earth's  recurrent  Springs, 
109 


Speed  Thou  the  feet  that  scale  the  heavenward 

way, 

And  touch  with  quenchless  fire  each  tongue 
that  sings! 

Until  that  sturdier  race  of  bards  arise, 

Sprung   from   the   toilers   at  the   bench   and 
plough,  — 

The  splendor  of  the  Past  within  their  eyes, 
The  grandeur  of  the  Present  on  their  brow ! 


110 


THE    NEW    AGE 

WHEN  navies  are  forgotten 
And  fleets  are  useless  things, 
When  the  dove  shall  warm  her  bosom 
Beneath  the  eagle's  wings,  — 

When  memory  of  battles 

At  last  is  strange  and  old, 
When  nations  have  one  banner 

And  creeds  have  found  one  fold, — 

When  the  Hand  that  sprinkles  midnight 
With  its  powdered  drift  of  suns 

Has  hushed  this  tiny  tumult 

Of  sects  and  swords  and  guns,  — 

Then  Hate's  last  note  of  discord 
In  all  God's  worlds  shall  cease, 

In  the  conquest  which  is  service, 
In  the  victory  which  is  peace! 


Ill 


SON    OF    THE    PURITANS 

SON  of  the  Puritans,  can  it  be  thou, 
Harness'd    for    slaughter    with    bayonet 

and  blade? 

Weeds  in  thy  furrows,  rust  on  thy  plough, 
Death  for  thy  trade? 

Fruitless  the  planting  in  War's  black  soil ! 

What  do  the  red-handed  husbandmen  reap  ?  — 
Cripples  that  languish,  children  that  toil, 

Widows  who  weep! 

Ah,  these  death-gleaners  must  learn  as  they  mow 
Darkest  of  secrets  that  History  hoards: 

Only  a  harvest  of  hatred  can  grow 
From  a  sowing  of  swords! 


11* 


ZLotot 


DIVES    AND    LAZARUS,    1904 


ONE  sat  in  his  hall, 
One  lay  at  the  gate; 
One  had  praise  from  all, 
One  had  hate. 

What  can  make  amends 

When  disaster  flogs  ? 
One  had  kings  for  friends, 

One  had  dogs! 

One,  when  robbed  by  Death, 

Yielded  up  his  bags; 
One  lost  only  breath 

And  his  rags. 

Yet  that  very  night 

Saw  the  Gulf  uncross'd, 

Lazarus  clothed  in  light; 
Dives  lost! 

And  one  writhing  soul 

Learn'd  this  truth's  sad  force 
113 


Hell's  most  torturing  coal 
Is  remorse. 

Oh,  that  wild,  wild  cry!  — 
"  Bridge  this  gulf  for  us, 
Thou  enthroned  on  high, 
Lazarus ! " 

H. 

Sleek  and  plunder-fed, 

Dives  of  to-day, 
Hoard  your  wine  and  bread 

While  you  may! 

Gorge  in  kingly  state !  — 
But  that  gaunt  and  grim 

Lazarus  at  your  gate  — 
What  of  him ! 

Call  your  thefts  "  a  trust  "  — 
Words  can  have  no  weight 

With  the  always  just 
Scales  of  Fate. 

Hospitals  and  schools 
Built  on  public  fraud 

Are  a  sop  that  fools 
Throw  at  God ! 
114 


Turn  your  heavy  eyes 

Tow'rd  your  palace  doors, 

Help  that  wretch  to  rise ! 
Heal  his  sores! 

Faint  from  scourge  and  rod, 
Foul  with  blood  and  dust, 

Hear  him  cry  —  great  God ! 
For  a  crust ! 

Ah!   the  chasm  fixed 
Between  him  and  you 

Is  the  gulf  betwixt 
False  and  true ! 

Slave,  whose  table  groans 
With  all  fruits  that  be ! 

Beggar  on  the  stones, 
Starved,  yet  free ! 

Which  shall  stand,  uncowed, 
Clean,  without  scar, 

Before  History's  proud 
Judgment  bar? 


115 


THE    CHRISTIVIAS    FOR    AMERICA 

1HEAR  no  angels  in  the  skies, 
I  hear  the  toiler  mourn  his  lot,  — 
I  catch  a  thousand  mingled  cries : 
"  Fate  rules,"  "  God  is,"  and  "  God  is  not." 

I  see  no  hillsides  gray  with  sheep, 

I  meet  no  Magi  on  the  road ; 
I  see  the  crippled  beggar  creep, 

Striving  to  stand  beneath  his  load. 

O  Nazareth  Carpenter  who  cursed 
The  pride  and  avarice  of  thy  day, 

We  would  observe  thy  birth,  but  first 
Thy  Sermon  on  the  Mount  obey. 

If  thou  shouldst  come  once  more  to  men 
In  this,  the  later  Promised  Land, 

Would  not  thy  great  heart  break  again 
To  find  these  wrongs  on  every  hand: 

Labor,  heart-smitten,  left  to  die, 

Beneath  the  feet  of  conquest  hurled, 

Or,  lifting  hatred's  torch  on  high, 
Wreaking  revenge  upon  the  world? 
116 


0  galaxy  of  virgin  States, 

White  constellation  of  all  time !  — 
What  blackness  as  of  Death  awaits 

If  these  pure  stars  grow  dark  with  crime! 

1  have  no  Holy  Land  but  thee, 
Nation  whose  hills  and  prairies  wait 

The  new,  the  last  Nativity,  — 

That  Justice  which  shall  make  us  great! 

Though  Freedom's  eagle  bleeds,  he  still 
Soars  from  his  eyrie  tow'rd  the  sun, 

May  his  torn  wings  gain  strength  until 
That  blazing  goal  of  truth  be  won ! 

Vast,   wide-stretch'd  land!     Though   years  are 
long, 

When  Love's  great  ends  are  served  in  us, 
We  shall  be  clean  as  well  as  strong, 

Kind  as  we  are  victorious ! 

No  longer  lies  at  Bethlehem's  inn 

Lord  Jesus  in  the  mangered  hay, 
Where  selfish  Wealth  repents  its  sin 

The  poor  man's  Christ  is  born  to-day! 


117 


SLoto 


THE    WORLD'S    NEW    WATERWAY 
(The  Proposed  Isthmian  Canal) 

r  I  CHOUGH  wedded  continents  unclasp  their 
i  hands 

Which  they  had  plighted,  palm  to  palm,  in 

youth, 

Still  closer  ties  shall  bind  these  severed  lands  — 
A  growing  love  of  liberty  and  truth. 


Disjoin'd  but  not  divorc'd,  though  twain  still 

one, 
One   in   their   Western    faith,   their   Eastern 

birth, 

Nursed  in  one  cradle  'neath  the  Orient  sun, 
Sent  forth  alike  to  lord  this  larger  earth  I 

O  destined  lands,  that  held  aloft  to  God 

The  torch  of  truth  unquench'd  through  hos 
tile  years ! 
O  shores  that  Bolivar  and  Lincoln  trod! 

O  fields  of  plenty  sown  with  blood  and  tears! 
118 


ILofct 


Between  your  coasts,  uniting  them  the  more, 
Trade's  white-wing'd  couriers  now  shall  come 

and  go, 
And  Peace  and  Progress  guard  each  trustful 

shore, 

While    the    long    future    centuries    goalward 
flow! 


119 


Hotoe 


TO  A  MODERN  OFFICE  BUILDING 

WHAT  poet  dreamed  thee?  miracle  of  steel, 
Soaring  above  the  steeples  to  the  sky ; 
What  artist  drew  thee  with  a  holy  zeal 

Before  thy  mighty  structure  rose  on  high? 

Springing  from  base  to  cornice  with  proud  ease, 
Vast  slender  cube,  hive  of  the  human  cells, 

Was  man,  thy  maker,  such  a  mote  as  these 
Who  swarm  within  thee,  as  their  task  compels  ? 

Or  did  some  giant  with  a  careless  hand 

Lift  high  these  light   screen-walls   and   airy 

frame, 

With  glad  Olympian  laughter  as  he  scanned 
Thy   dwarfed   companions,   envious   of   such 
fame  ? 

O  watchman  of  the  city  at  thy  feet, 

Gigantic  Argus  with  the  countless  eyes, 

Hearing  the  drone  of  traffic  from  the  street 
Like  some  incessant  litany  arise! 

Labor's  cathedral,  castle  of  finance! 
No  mediaeval  masterpiece  of  stone 
120 


Lifted  a  grander  pile  to  face  God's  glance 
Than  thou  upholdest  to  the  heavens  alone. 

The  girder  that  supports  thy  weight  is  thought, 
Thy  piers  and  columns  type  the  joys  of  flight, 

Thy  very  walls  within  my  heart  have  wrought 
Their  symbol  of  the  poetry  of  height. 

Art  thou  the  scion  of  some  Titan  brood, 

Some  Atlas  on  whose  back  earth's  toil  is  laid? 

Rising,  self-urged,  in  patient  solitude 
Above  the  smoky,  foul  abyss  of  trade? 

Nay,  thou  art  offspring  of  more  buoyant  race, 
A  young,  fair  god,  the  athlete  of  the  skies, 

With  sinewy  limbs,  with  joy  upon  thy  face, 
With  dauntless  prophecy  within  thine  eyes! 

The  type  art  thou  of  this  vast  land  to  me, 
Late  risen  o'er  its  fellows,  proud  and  great, 

The  home  of  toil  and  yet  superbly  free, 

Lifting   with    easy    grace    Time's    monstrous 
weight ! 


121 


THE    POET    FOR    TO-DAY 

WE     have     sonnets     enough,     and     songs 
enough, 

And  ballads  enough,  God  knows! 

But  we  want  to-day  that  cosmic  stuff 

Whence  primitive  feeling  glows, 

Grown,  organized  to  the  needs  of  rhyme 
Through  the  old  instinctive  laws, 

With  a  meaning  broad  as  the  boughs  of  time 
And  deep  as  the  roots  of  cause. 

It  is  passion  and  power  that  we  need  to-day, 
We  have  grace  and  taste  full  store ; 

We  need  a  man  who  will  say  his  say 
With  a  strength  unguessed  before :  — 

No  lips  that  sing  at  a  patron's  nod 

For  the  price  of  a  jester's  crust, 
But  a  voice  whose  sagas  shall  live  with  God 

When  the  lyres  of  earth  are  rust ;  — 

A  soul,  though  clean  of  the  stains  of  lust, 
Which  loves  all  God  calls  fair, 

122 


JLofee 


With  feet  that  are  soiled  with  the  common  dust, 
And  nature  honest  and  bare ;  — 

A  man  who  will  heed  the  cry  of  the  poor 
Clutched  fast  in  the  claws  of  greed, 

Who  will  fight  to  the  death  for  the  sound  and 

sure 
In  the  smoky  battles  of  creed ;  — 

A  spirit  deaf  to  alluring  sounds 
More  siren  than  Truth's  command, 

God's  athlete,  wrestling  with  all  that  wounds 
Home,  honor*  and  native  land ; 

Whose  lines  shall  glow  like  molten  steel 

From  being  forged  in  his  soul, 
Till  the  very  anvil  shall  burn  to  feel 

The  breath  of  the  quenchless  coal! 

Your  dainty  wordsters  may  cry,  "  Uncouth ! " 
As  they  shrink  from  his  bellows'  glow, 

But  the  fire  he  fans  is  immortal  youth, 
And  how  should  the  bloodless  know! 

Oh,  safety  and  ease  are  always  spurned 

By  the  poet  of  God's  desire ; 
Can  you  keep  your  fingers  from  being  burned 

If  you  handle  a  harp  of  fire? 


ZLofe*  Crfumjtyatnt 


NEW    ENGLAND 
i. 

BLEAK  was  the  sea,  and  pitiless  the  shore, 
When  our  brave  fathers,  tyrant-driven, 

accurs'd, 
Unlock'd  the  future's  inauspicious  door, 

And,  bold  of  brow,  trod  Freedom's  threshold 

first. 
Staunch  hearts!    beneath  the  arrogant  garb  of 

sect 

Beat  bosoms  warmed  by  fires  not  lit  on  earth, 
And  the  real  man  —  supreme,  secure,  erect  — 

Gave  to  an  iron  creed  its  human  worth. 
The  cold  frosts  fell  relentless  on  the  grain, 

The  cunning  savage  lurked  by  rock  and  tree, 
No  sound  was  heard  in  that  lone,  desolate  plain 

Save,  on  the  rocks,  the  ravings  of  the  sea. 
Yet,  O  our  fathers,  how  your  hands  were  stayed ! 
The  Pilgrim's  God  was  with  you  —  ye  were  un 
dismayed  ! 

ii. 

And  we,  the  scions  of  a  gentler  age, 

The  latest  birth  of  slow-maturing  Time  — 


ZLobt 


Shall  we  be  heirs  of  that  high  heritage, 

Partakers  of  that  legacy  sublime, 
And  not  be  sharers  of  their  solemn  vow  — 

Those    forest-conquering    heroes,    dauntless, 

free, 
By  the  long,  treacherous  cape  which,  then  as 

now, 
With  gaunt,  crook'd  finger  beckoned  to  the 

sea? 
Tell  us,  ye  stars,  that  watched  their  lonely  fires, 

Yea,  watch  each  generation  as  it  runs  — 
The  witness  of  their  prayers,  and  our  desires 
High  as  their  own  —  say,  are  we  not  their 

sons? 
Shall   not   the   virtues   which   have   made   them 

great 

Rule,  animate,  enthrall  our  hearts,  control  our 
State? 

in. 

Thou  art  the  rough  nurse  of  a  hero-brood, 
New   England,   and  their  mighty   limbs   by 

thee 
Were  fashioned  —  they,  the  bards,  the  warriors 

rude, 

Whom  Time  hath  dowered  with  fame  imper- 
ishably. 

125 


ILotoe 


But  not  alone  for  this  I  love  thee ;   I 

On  thy  bare  mother-breast  have  laid  my  head, 
And  drunk  the  cool,  deep  silence,  while  the  sky, 

Confederate  of  my  joy,  laughed  o'er  my  bed. 
Thus  have  I  lain  till  half  I  seemed  a  part  — 

In  my  clairvoyant  mood  —  of  Nature's  plan ; 
The  very  landscape  crept  into  my  heart, 

And  they  were  one  —  the  sense,  the  soul,  of 

man; 

My  kinship  with  life's  myriad  forms  I  knew:  — 
Worms  in  the  world  of  green,  wings  in  the  world 
of  blue! 

IV. 

Nor  less  I  loved  thee  in  those  hours  of  blight 

When  winter  fell  upon  thee  like  a  sleep; 
Again  I  watch  along  the  drifted  white 

The  dark  triangle  of  the  snow-plough  sweep, 
Behold  the  oxen  draw  the  creaking  sled, 

Hear  the  sharp  sleet  rehearse  upon  the  pane, 
See  the  wise  village  prophets  shake  the  head 

While  through  the  elms  the  witless  winds  com 
plain. 
Ah,  in  those  hours,  O  native  hills!    I  know 

Alert  beneath  thy  guise  of  seeming  dead 
The  roots  are  warm,  the  saps  of  summer  flow, 

The  wings  of  immortality  are  bred! 

126 


Hotoe 


In  all  things  reigns  one  immanent  Control: 
The  life  beneath  the  snow,  the  Life  within  my 
soul! 

v. 

Then  hail,  ye  hills!    like  rough-hewn  temples 
set, 

With  granite  beams,  upon  this  earth  of  God ! 
Austerer  halls  of  worship  never  yet 

Had  feet  of  Puritan  or  Pilgrim  trod: 
Abrupt  Chocorua,  Grey  lock's  hoary  height, 

Katahdin,    with   her   peak    of    bare,    scarr'd 

stone, 
Sloping  Monadnock,  and,  in  loftier  flight, 

Thou,  rising  to  the  eternal  heavens,  alone  — 
Thy  Sun-wooed  sisters,  less  divinely  proud, 

Bribed  to  compliance  by  their  suitor's  gold  — 
Thou,  wrapt  in  thy  stern  drapery  of  a  cloud, 

Chaste,  passionless,  inviolably  cold, 
Mount  Washington!    sky-shouldering,  freedom- 
crowned, 
Compatriot  with  the  windy  blue  above,  around! 

VI. 

And  hail,  ye  waters!   whether,  mountain-locked, 

The  timid  lake  shines  in  the  valley's  palm, 

127 


Hotor 


Where  strident  human  discord  never  mocked 

With  alien  clamor  the  primeval  calm ; 
Or  whether  streams  insistent  to  the  sea 

Urge  their  impatient  way,  till  far  behind 
The  hills  are  left,  and,  black  with  industry, 
Through  long,  low  meadow-lands  their  path 

they  wind. 

O'er  stream  and  lake  alike  the  slight  canoe, 
Artful    though    forest-born,    once    found    its 

course, 
By    dark    hands    guided    which    the    war-axe 

knew  — 
Hands  skilled  in  dexterous  craft  and  fearless 

force. 

Now  by  those  waters  blue  the  warriors  sleep; 
The   still   heights   taciturn   the   destined   secret 
keep! 

vn. 

Perished  that  forest-nurtur'd  race;    the  winds 
Have  scattered  past  recall  their  nameless  dust. 
Forerunners  they  of  more  heroic  kinds, 

The  harsh  Fates  slew  them,  but  the  Fates  were 

just. 
Thou    more    intrepid    brood!     these    hills    were 

thine 

Which  had  been  theirs,  O  valiant  elder  band ! 
138 


actor  Stfuntptjant 


Let  us  in  our  unventurous  ease,  supine, 

Spare  those  a  thought  who  met  the  time's  de 
mand, 

Ploughed   these   unwilling  plains,   these   wood 
lands  cleared, 

The  sons  of  God  because  the  sons  of  Toil, 
Who  in  this  wilderness  their  temples  reared, 
But  knew  no  shrine  more  sacred  than  their 

soil. 

When  tyranny  this  freeman  breed  defied, 
Through  the  hot  lips  of  merciless  cannon  they 
replied ! 

vin. 

Who  was  it,  when  the  British  thunders  broke, 
And    Western    Conquest    staggered    to    her 

fall  — 
Who  was  it  then  unchained  the  ty rant-}roke  ? 

Oh,   answer,   memory-haunted   Faneuil   Hall! 
And  when  our  North  was  menaced  by  her  foes, 

Blind  with  the  lust  of  gold,  deaf  as  the  sea, 
Though  bondsmen  plead  for  pity,  who  arose 
And  sundered  first  those  shackles  —  who  but 

thee? 

All-sheltering  as  a  mother,  thou  didst  stand, 
New  England,  with  thine  arms  outstretch'd 
%to  save; 

129 


Europe,  the  prairied  West,  on  either  hand, 

And,  clinging  to  thy  garment's  hem,  the  slave ! 
And  shall  we  love  thee  less  whom,  at  thy  shrine, 
Our  sires  pledged  in  their  hearts'  best  blood  — 
that  costliest  wine? 

IX. 

Nay!   though  we  wander  where  against  the  sky 
The  sun-burnt  leagues  of  low  plain  stretch 

away, 

Or  where  on  silver  coasts  the  warm  waves  sigh 
And  green,  palm-crown'd  Decembers  vie  with 

May, 

We  still  are  thine;   and  in  our  sad,  fond  dream, 
They    rest    again  —  these    weary    feet    that 

roam : 
We  see  the  farm,  the  orchard,  and  the  stream, 

And,  rising  to  the  heavens,  the  hills  of  home. 
The  quest  of  gain  has  called  us  from  thy  breast, 

Our  common  mother !    but  the  noisy  mart 
Can  never  drown  the  inner  voice  of  rest ; 

The  child's  pure  peace  still  harbors  in  our 

heart. 
Though  far  our  footsteps  stray,  though  years 

be  long, 

The  kindred  loves  of  home  and  truth  shall  keep 
us  strong! 

130 


V. 


"He  strikes  a  hundred  lyres,  a  thousand  strings, 
Yet  one  at  heart  are  all  the  songs  he  sings." 


131 


A    SONG    OF    DESIRE 

THOU  dreamer  with  the  million  moods, 
Of  restless  heart  like  me, 
Lay  thy  white  hands  against  my  breast 
And  cool  its  pain,  O  Sea ! 

O  wanderer  of  the  unseen  paths, 

Restless  of  heart  as  I, 
Blow  hither,  from  thy  caves  of  blue, 

Wind  of  the  healing  sky! 

O  treader  of  the  fiery  way, 

With  passionate  heart  like  mine, 

Hold  to  my  lips  thy  healthful  cup 
Brimmed  with  its  blood-red  wine! 

O  countless  watchers  of  the  night, 

Of  sleepless  heart  like  me, 
Pour  your  white  beauty  in  my  soul, 

Till  I  grow  calm  as  ye ! 

O  sea,  O  sun,  O  wind  and  stars, 
(O  hungry  heart  that  longs!) 

Feed  my  starved  lips  with  life,  with  love, 
And  touch  my  tongue  with  songs ! 
133 


A    SONG    OF    MEMORY 

WHEN  the  frosts  are  pale  with  malice, 
When    the   hoarse    northeasters    blow, 
When  the  clouds  are  gray  and  heartless, 
And  the  roads  are  faint  with  snow,  — 
Suddenly  the  gale  grows  silent, 

Till  the  white  world  swims  to  view, 
And  the  hush  and  mystery  hold  me 
That  those  farmhouse  evenings  knew. 

When  the  meanest  branch  is  vocal, 

When  the  blue  is  thick  with  wings, 
And  the  voice  of  lad  and  lover 

One  with  every  throat  that  sings, 
Then  the  deathless  summers  waken, 

And  my  fingers  lose  the  pen, 
While  the  stern  Past  lends  me  faces 

It  can  never  give  again. 

When  the  frost  has  come  with  banners 

And  has  captured  every  hill, 
When  the  staunchest  flower  has  perish'd, 

And  forsaken  boughs  are  still ; 
134 


ILotoe 


Then  old  memories  lead  me  backward 
Down  lost  roadways  brown  and  wild, 

Where  'twas  rapture  to  be  living, 
Where  'twas  heaven  to  be  a  child. 


135 


THE    GLIMPSE 

HOW  often  I  have  seen  in  city  streets 
Some  woman's  face,  with  eyes  so  like  the 

sky 

One  looks  to  see  a  bird's  wing  brush  the  blue, 
With  lips  arched  like  the  veriest  bow  of  love, 
And  hair  that  falls  a  glory  round  her  brow; 
And  yet  within,  beneath,  behind  it  all, 
Have  spied,  with  that  intenser  sight,  my  soul, 
Such  hungry  longings  feeding  on  themselves 
As  would  shame  Famine  —  o'er  the  iron  song 
Of  wheels  and  hoofs,  have  heard  with  spirit  ear, 
Undeafen'd  by  an  instant  sympathy, 
The  tears  of  all  the  mothers  of  the  world. 


136 


TO   MOTHER    NATURE 

NATURE,  in  thy  largess,  grant 
I  may  be  thy  confidant ! 
Taste  who  will  life's  roadside  cheer 
(Tho'  my  heart  doth  hold  it  dear  — 
Song  and  wine  and  trees  and  grass, 
All  the  joys  that  flash  and  pass), 
I  must  put  within  my  prayer 
Gifts  more  intimate  and  rare. 
Show  me  how  dry  branches  throw 
Such  blue  shadows  on  the  snow,  — 
Tell  me  how  the  wind  can  fare 
On  his  unseen  feet  of  air,  — 
Show  me  how  the  spider's  loom 
Weaves  the  fabric  from  her  womb,  — 
Lead  me  to  those  brooks  of  morn 
Where  a  woman's  laugh  is  born,  — 
Let  me  taste  the  sap  that  flows 
Through  the  blushes  of  a  rose, 
Yea,  and  drain  the  blood  which  runs 
From  the  heart  of  dying  suns,  — 
Teach  me  how  the  butterfly 
Guessed  at  immortality,  — 
137  " 


Ho  tot 


Let  me  follow  up  the  track 

Of  Love's  deathless  Zodiac 

Where  Joy  climbs  among  the  spheres 

Circled  by  her  moon  of  tears,  — 

Tell  me  how,  when  I  forget 

All  the  schools  have  taught  me,  yet 

I  recall  each  trivial  thing 

In  a  golden,  far-off  Spring,  — 

Give  me  whispered  hints  how  I 

May  instruct  my  heart  to  fly 

Where  the  baffling  Vision  gleams 

Till  I  overtake  my  dreams, 

And  the  impossible  be  done 

When  the  Wish  and  Deed  grow  one ! 


138 


THE    SEA 

COME  down  with  me  to  the  moon-led  sea, 
Where  the  long  wave  ebbs  and  fills. 
Are  these  the  tides  that  follow 
As  the  lunar  impulse  wills? 

Nay,  rather  this  is  the  heart  of  God, 

Naked  under  the  sky, 
And  we  hear  its  pulse  with  wonder  — 

The  shore,  and  the  clouds,  and  I! 

Unearthly,  awful,  uncompelled, 

Eternity  framed  in  clay, 
The  urge  of  exhaustless  passions, 

Rocking  beneath  the  gray! 

Its  life  is  the  blood  of  the  universe 

Through  cosmic  arteries  hurled, 
With  the  throb  of  its  giant  pulses 

God  feeds  the  veins  of  the  world ! 

And  the  lands  are  wrinkled  and  gray  with  time 
And  scored  with  a  thousand  scars, 

But  the  sea  is  the  soul  of  the  Infinite, 
Swinging  beneath  the  stars! 
139 


THE    WAVERLEY    OAKS 

(The  famous  Waverley  Oaks,  in  Waverley  Massachusetts,  are 
probably  the  oldest  in  America.  Professor  Agassiz  estimated  the 
age  of  one  of  the  group  at  about  a  thousand  years.) 

HOW    many    a    fruitful    season    ye    have 
known,  — 
The    planting,    and    the    scything,    and    the 

sheaves ! 

While  races  throve  and  died,  ye  tower' d  alone, 
Shedding  the  centuries  lightly  as  your  leaves. 

Shielding   from  tempest's   wrath   each  trustful 

nest 

That  asks  a  shelter  from  the  heat  or  rain, 
Wrestling  with  winds  that  wound  Earth's  inno 
cent  breast, 

Huge  athletes,  gnarled,  storm-wounded,  yet 
unslain ! 

Contemptuous     of    decay,     ye    watched    them 

pass  — 
The    days    unwarmed    by    smiles,    unwet    by 

tears, 

When  o'er  the  forests  and  the  unshorn  grass, 
Suns  rose  and  waned  on  lone,  primeval  years ; 
140 


Then  came  through  gates  of  birth  each  strange, 

new  guest  — 
Poor,  helpless  babes  that,  since  that  distant 

morn, 
In  human  cradles  or  on  Nature's  breast, 

Have  lived  their  moment  'neath  your  genial 
scorn. 

Yes,  ye  have  watched  the  generations  die 
After  their  little  day  of  mirth  and  toil, 

And   still  stretch   forth   your  brawny   arms   on 

high, 
Gigantic  guardians  of  New  England  soil! 


141 


THE    APRIL    BOY 

AS  I  went  through  the  April-world 
To  watch  my  violets  blow, 
I  met  a  child  I  long  had  loved 
Whose  heart  was  clean  as  snow. 

"  Come  hither,  little  White-of-Soul, 

Now  tell  me  how  you  fare ! " 
He  ran  to  me,  he  sprang  at  me, 
The  sun  was  in  his  hair. 

His  eyes  were  laughing  like  his  lips, 

He  had  an  April  look, 
His  feet  were  wet  as  ocean  shells 

From  wading  in  the  brook. 

And  Nature,  too,  became  a  child; 

As  far  as  eye  could  see 
The  world  was  one  big  romping-ground 

For  Earth,  the  Boy,  and  Me ! 

I  quite  forgot  my  violets, 
His  eyes  were  both  so  blue, 

His  merry  lips  that  press'd  my  own 
Were  mayflowers  moist  with  dew; 


Svtumpljaut 


And  as  we  took  the  road  to  town, 

The  little  lad  and  I, 
He  seemed  to  hold  the  whole  of  Spring 

And  brush  the  Winter  by. 

The  birds  all  knew  him,  that  I'm  sure, 
They  ne'er  sang  thus  for  me; 

The  budding  branches  seemed  to  reach 
To  kiss  each  dimpled  knee. 

And  when  I  left  him  near  his  home, 
"  Good-by,  big  man,"  he  said ; 
Good-by,  Sir  April,"  I  returned,  — 
He  shouted,  laughed,  and  fled. 


143 


Hob* 


A    SONG    OF    SAILING 

AT  last  the  loud  wind  rounds  with  health 
The  lean  cheek  of  our  sail, 
The  scourging  brine  is  all  our  wealth, 
But  homeward  leads  the  trail, — 
AU  hail! 

Ah,  soon  the  harbor  buoy  and  bar, 

And  soon  the  face  that  waits, 
The  crowded  docks,  the  lighthouse  star, 

And  welcoming  garden  gates, 
My  mates! 

Our  stout  boat  rams  the  towering  waves 
That  hide  heaven's  windy  dome, 

The  menace  of  their  fury  braves, 
And  tossing  them  to  foam, 
Steers  home ! 

Her  old  patch'd  topsail  curves  once  more, 

Gray  as  a  sea-bird's  wing, 
With  breeze  astern,  she  seeks  the  shore 
Swift  as  a  living  thing  — 
Then  sing:  — 
144 


hoi   the  surfs  in  sight, 
The  soft  beach  shines  like  snow; 
From  out  To-day  has  been  our  flight 
Into  the  Long  Ago!  — 
Land  hot 


145 


TO   A    BROKEN    SEA  -  SHELL 

OLIPS  that  passionate  waves  have  kissed 
In  every  sea; 

Cast  on  the  shore,  what  have  you  left 
Save  memory? 

Small  wonder  that  ye  whispered  long 

Of  lost  delights, 
Those  storms  beneath  the  tropic  sky  — 

Those  nights,  those  nights! 

But  now  although  thy  years  of  song, 

Dear  shell,  are  past, 
'Tis  only  since  some  careless  foot 

Crushed  thee  at  last. 

Long  prisoned  in  thy  slender  throat 

What  glorious  tone! 
0  poet  of  the  waves,  thy  fate 

How  like  mine  own ! 

The  waters  of  love's  sea  are  salt 

With  passionate  tears, 
And  my  wild  heart  was  tossed  like  thee, 

Long  years,  long  years! 

146 


Now  cast  upon  the  unheeding  shore 

It  sings  the  Past, 
And  ever  must,  unless,  like  thee, 

It  breaks  at  last! 


147 


Hob*  £vtuntpljant 


THE     THIEF 

WITH  all  his  purple  spoils  upon  him 
Creeps  back  the  plunderer  Sea, 
Deep  in  his  rayless  caves  he  plunges, 
Fed  full  with  robbery ; 

His  caverns  filled  with  dead  men's  treasure, 
With  coins  and  bones  and  pearl ; 

For  curtains  and  for  golden  carpet, 
The  hair  of  some  drowned  girl! 

0  bandit  with  the  white-plumed  horsemen, 
Raiding  a  thousand  shores, 

Thy  coffers  crammed  with  spars  and  anchors 
And  wave-defeated  oars ! 

1  hear  again  thine  ancient  laughter, 

Thy  mirthful,  mad  unrest, 
Yet  catch  the  notes  of  shame  and  torture 
Within  thy  bravest  jest. 

For  lo !  there  is  a  Hand  that  holds  thee 

And  curbs  thy  proudest  wave, 
Tny  boundaries  have  been  set  forever  — 

Thou  art  thyself  a  slave! 
148 


The  lash  is  given  to  wild  taskmasters! 

Thy  lips  may  foam  with  wrath, 
Still  moons  shall  call  and  thou  must  follow, 

Still  winds  shall  scourge  thy  path! 

O  impotent  thief!   I  scorn  thy  pillage, 

Marauder  of  pale  coasts ! 
The  brigands  whom  I  dread  are  fiercer 

Than  thou  and  all  thy  hosts ! 

For  Death  hath  stolen  friend  and  comrade, 

Love  robbed  the  heart  of  rest, 
Sin  snared  a  soul,  while  thou  wast  hoarding 

Some  sailor's  treasure-chest. 

O  braggart,  laughing  o'er  thy  booty, 

Boast  on  till  days  are  done, 
And  the  frail  star  where  thou  disportest 

Hath  dropped  into  the  sun! 


149 


THE     KINGDOM     OF     THE     SUNRISE 

WHEN  God  had  plough'd  New  England 
with  a  glacier 

And  made  it  ready  to  be  sown  with  man, 
He  flung   no   mightier   seed   throughout   these 

valleys 

Than,     long    before,     across     thy    heights, 
Japan ! 

Men  filled  with  dreams  and  daring,  dark,  in 
trepid, 

Men  who  had  learn'd  to  labor  and  to  pray; 
We  in  our  arrogance  have  called  them  pagans, 
Because  they  climb'd  tow'rd  Truth  a  different 
way. 

But  when  they  sat  within  the  doors  of  daybreak, 
Offering  all  lands  the  fruits  of  Orient  toil, 

They   roused   the   jealous   wrath   which   hurl'd 

upon  them 
The  sons  of  conquest  and  the  slaves  of  spoil! 

Whatever  name  be  Thine,  0  Infinite  Sower, 
Brahm,    Buddha,    Christ,    according   to   our 
creed, 

150 


Hobe  Crftttnjtticint 


Rescue    these    fields    that    Thou    thyself    hajt 

planted !  — 
From  the  despoiler  save  Thy  scattered  seed ! 

O  Dweller  beyond  Suns,  O  Throned  in  Silence ! 
Look  down  on  these  loud  conflicts  —  bid  them 

cease ! 

Speed  the  great  ends  of  love  on  Earth  forever, 
And  pluck   this   vulture   from   the  heart  of 

Peace ! 
June,  1904. 


151 


THE   MAN-CHILD 

FROM  the  loins  that  know  no  languor, 
From  the  womb  of  the  Divine, 
When  the  lords  of  flame  and  tempest 
Met  to  found  my  kingly  line, 

Lo!    I  sprang,  a  child  celestial, 
While  the  earth  was  still  a  coal 

Lighted  at  the  white-hot  brazier 
Where  the  sun  evolved  his  soul. 

Thus  I  came  and  pass'd;    the  spaces 
Drank  my  spirit  like  a  breath, 

Till,  new-moulded,  reincarnate, 
I  defied  the  gods  of  Death, 

And  upon  this  cooling  planet 

Through  the  gates  of  birth  I  press'd, 

With  the  wonder  of  the  memory 
Of  the  Universal  Breast. 

Myriad  forms  that  Mind  hath  fashioned 
Out  of  dust  to  serve  its  needs 

I  am  clad  withal ;   I  worship 

And  revile  through  all  the  creeds. 
152 


Harlot,  vestal,  saint,  and  pagan 

Blent  their  strains  within  my  blood, 

Beast  and  serpent,  slain  and  slayer, 
Monsters  of  the  cosmic  flood. 

I  have  scourged  with  every  tyrant, 
I  have  knelt  at  every  shrine, 

I  hold  Sodom  for  my  revel, 
I  drink  Egypt  for  my  wine! 

I  am  born  of  perfect  women, 
I  am  come  of  stalwart  males, 

I  was  nursed  at  Helen's  bosom, 
I  have  followed  viking  sails! 

In  mv  veins  the  Russ  and  Tartar, 
In  my  blood  the  Gaul  and  Hun, 

Corinth's  lust  and  Sidon's  barter, 
And  Sahara's  leagues  of  sun! 

All  the  deities  man  worships, 
All  dark  shades  of  the  abyss, 

Lent  their  fury  to  my  anger, 
Lent  their  passion  to  my  kiss. 

When  the  poet's  flame  within  me 
Leaps,  as  in  the  years  that  were, 
153 


Hotoe 


Lesbos  lures  and  Sappho  calls  me, 
And  my  feet  must  follow  her! 

When  the  lover's  pulse  beats  fiercely 
In  my  wrists  and  throat  and  face, 

It  is  Cleopatra  holds  me 

In  the  storm  of  her  embrace! 

All  Parnassus  in  one  stanza, 

All  of  Egypt  in  one  day, 
All  the  blue  breadth  of  Nyanza, 

All  the  hot  miles  of  Cathay ! 

Thou  whose  red  mouth  is  the  beaker 
Whence  I  quaff  such  drowsy  wine, 

Fear  thou  not  this  heart  tempestuous, 
Though  it  beat  so  loud  on  thine. 

Fear  thou  not  these  rude,  firm  muscles ! 

They  were  sculptured  worlds  ago, 
When  the  gods  of  light  and  darkness 

Struggled  for  this  star  below ! 

Kiss  me,  lips,  and  grow  undying! 

Passionate  bosom,  closer  lean! 
I,  the  son  of  all  the  cycles, 

Thus  at  last  will  crown  thee  queen !  - 
154 


Hobe  SrfuttuMjatu 


Sovereign  o'er  these  quivering  sinews, 
Tameless  save  to  thy  control  — 

Thou  who  wieldest  with  thy  beauty 
All  the  sceptre  of  my  soul! 


155 


TO  A  LOCOMOTIVE  AT  NIGHT 

O  CYCLOPS  with  the  one  terrific  eye, 
Charging  upon  me  from  thy  cave,  the 

Dark, 
With  monstrous  brawn  and  fleetness,  nude  and 

stark, 

Breathing  thy  futile  wrath  against  the  sky  — 
Fierce  giant  of  the  rails,  malign  and  sly! 
As  some  gigantic  missile  toward  its  mark, 
Straight  toward  the  heart  of  night  and  si 
lence  —  hark ! 

Thou   roarest   through   the   blackness,   Death's 
ally! 

With  parched,  hot  lips  upraised  to  sunless  space, 
Drinking    great    distances    with    thirst    un- 

quenched, 

Panting  with  the  mad  fury  of  thy  flight, 
Like  some  huge  athlete  with  his  hands  hard 

clenched 
At  either  side  running  thy  desperate  race, 

Thou  vanishest   down  the   track  into  the 
night ! 


156 


THE    CHILD    WHO    WENT   AWAY 


nere  that  it  wander'd  over  the  keys, 
JL          Her  dear  hand  brown  and  small, 
A  lover  would  swear  it  was  white  as  these, 

But  it  wasn't  white  at  all,  —  ,  ^ 

By  boating  toughen'd,  in  hammocks  tann'd, 
Yes  —  blister'd      by      racquets  —  the      childish 
hand. 

The  quaint  pianoforte  was  small, 

Old-fashioned  and  out  of  tune, 
But  her  fingers  fell  as  the  petals  fall 

In  the  gentlest  wind  of  June, 
And  the  wondering  keys  at  the  soft  command 
Gave  all  they  knew  to  the  dear  brown  hand  ; 

Till,  lost  in  the  music  made  by  her, 

The  whole  room  grew  less  staicl, 
The  haircloth  furniture  seemed  to  stir, 

And  Grandmother's  stiff  brocade 
Appeared  to  walk  from  the  great  gilt  frame 
And  curtsey  and  dance  for  the  little  dame. 

But  at  last  the  child's  warm  hand  grew  thin, 
And  the  white  soul  fled  above, 
157 


Ilotet 


Like  a  younger  sister  the  girl  had  been, 

My  love  was  a  brother's  love, 
Yet  a  glory  was  gone  from  the  gray  old  farm, 
And  the  rocky  pastures  had  lost  their  charm. 

And  my  boat  rocks  idly  here  by  the  bank, 
And  the  hammock  whispers  "  Come," 

And  the  keys  still  wait  in  a  patient  rank 

Though  their  small  white  throats  are  dumb,  — 

And  if  I  touch  them  they  only  say : 

"  Come  back,  come  back  from  that  far  away ! " 

And  the  lilac-bush  shades  the  low  south  room 

Just  as  it  did  of  old, 
And  the  butterfly,  deep  in  the  milkweed's  bloom, 

Is  poising  on  wings  of  gold; 
But  nothing  is  glad,  while  all  is  gay  — 
The  soul  of  the  summer  has  slipped  away. 

Yet  look!   your  lilies  are  blooming,  dear, 

Your  roses  climb  the  wall, 
And  waiting  for  you  in  the  garden  here 

Are  wicket,  mallet,  and  ball, 
And  your  banjo  stares  with  its  sad  round  face, 
Mocking  us  all  from  its  hiding-place. 

0  child !   do  your  dear  hands  never  tire 
Of  holding  the  harp  of  gold? 
158 


When  you  hear  us  sing  in  the  village  choir 

The  songs  that  you  loved  of  old, 
And  our  voices  break  —  ah  then,  ah  then, 
Don't  you  almost  wish  to  be  back  again? 


159 


OUR   FRIEND 

I   KNOW  not  whether  she  be  fair, 
If  blue  her  eyes  or  gold  her  hair ; 
I  have  not  marked  her  features  well  — 
Her  spirit  casts  too  strong  a  spell. 

Even  in  wintry  frost  and  sleet, 
If  one  but  pass  her  on  the  street, 
Though  all  the  town  be  wrapp'd  in  furs, 
A  sense  of  warmth  and  April  stirs. 

Her  lips  may  be  as  soft  as  those 
The  bee  is  proffered  by  the  rose  — 
I  do  not  know ;   but  this  I'm  sure : 
They  smile  alike  on  rich  and  poor. 

Her  ear  may  be  so  fine  a  fleck 
It  scarce  casts  shadow  on  her  neck; 
I  only  know  'tis  not  too  small 
To  listen  when  the  needy  call. 

I  know  not  if  her  hand  be  white, 
Or  if  her  foot  be  arched  and  slight ; 
Her  feet  will  run  to  carry  aid, 
Her  hand  shower  blessings  unrepaid. 
160 


ZLotoe 


If  she  should  die,  some  brush  might  trace 
The  maiden's  comeliness  or  grace; 
But  most  could  only  strive,  ah  yes, 
Somehow  to  fill  the  loneliness. 


161 


Hob*  STviwupijant 


THE    CLOSED    GENTIAN 

SEE  what  one  breath  of  August  did  — 
Rebuke  to  persevering  Art !  — 
With  every  maiden  mystery  hid, 
This  perfect  face,  this  virgin  heart ! 

Refusing  to  the  wanton  bee 

Those  lips  .that  innocence  hath  sealed, 
A  type  of  rustic  chastity 

That  smiles  and  serves  but  will  not  yield. 

Thou  standest,  gentle  flower,  beside 
The  homely  road,  the  common  way, 

Wearing  thy  beauty  without  pride 

Till  dust  and  time  have  turned  it  gray. 


163 


Hob* 


TO    POETRY 

higher  Truth,  Love's  sister,  Wonder's 
bride ! 

0  larger  Science  with  the  God-turned  face! 
Clasp  my  cold  heart  to  thy  supreme  embrace 

Until  my  blood  flow  through  me  like  a  tide, 
And  my  sad,  pulseless  soul  grow  deified 
With  the  divinest  currents  of  the  race ; 

1  stand  upon  this  wandering  star  in  space 
And  pray  thy  coming,  though  all  worlds  divide ! 

Behold!    I  feel  thy  lips  upon  mine  own 

Often,  O  Goddess,  till  thy  wings  sweep  by 

And  leave  my  spirit  passionless  as  a  nun's ; 

Then,  ere  I  quite  despair,  gray  Ocean's  moan 

Resummons  thee,  or  some  red  smouldering  sky 

With  mountain  summits  dipp'd  in  dying 

suns! 


163 


Hob* 


DESIRE 

,  who's  this  captive  I  have  caged? 
JL     Is  her  name  Desire? 
Ay !   and  Midnight  is  her  mother, 
And  her  father  —  Fire ! 

In  my  heart's  red  chamber 

How  her  fierce  wings  stir, 
As  though  old  memories  moved  her, 

And  the  far  home  call'd  to  her. 

She  was  born  where  stars  were  straying 
Through  the  lost  ways  of  the  sky ; 

And  I  thought  to  make  her  prisoner  — 
But  the  prisoner  is  I! 

For  she  spurns  my  silly  shackles 

When  the  wild  mood  fires  her  breast, 

And  I  needs  must  follow,  follow, 

Down  the  wing-paths  of  the  west :  — 

Then,  straight  up  the  walls  of  wonder, 

Till  we  vanish  in  the  blue, 
Till  (oh,  look!)  the  largest  ocean 

Dwindles  to  a  drop  of  dew,  — 
164 


Till  at  last  upon  my  forehead 
Night's  hot  zenith  burns  a  kiss, 

And  the  earth  becomes  a  glow-worm 
Twinkling  through  the  black  abyss. 

Then  my  captor  leads  me  gently 
Homeward  down  the  Milky  Way, 

Shuts  herself  within  her  cloister,  — 
But  the  key  is  thrown  away ! 


165 


ZLotoe  iTrtuwjpfjaut 


THE    CALL    OF    THE    COUNTRY 

OYOU  left  her  arms  so  early,  lusting  for 
,  the  hurly-burly 

Of  the  huge,  grim,  grinning  town; 
But    the    wander-fever    died,    and    your    weary 

spirit  cried, 
Where  the  love  of  Earth,  the  Mother,  hunts 

us  down ; 
Where  the  ledgers  lay  so  high  that  they  hurt 

the  aching  eye, 

While  the  worried  brain  toiled  without  rest, 
O,  then  the  Country  called  you,  and  her  dear  old 

sights  enthralled  you, 
And  you  longed  to  weep  once  more  upon  her 

breast. 
Don't  you  hear  the  voice  from  afar,  dear  boy, 

Hear  it  wherever  you  roam  ?  — 
Loud  on  your  track,  "  Come  back,  come 

back, 
Back  to  the  hills  of  home !  " 

Where  the  mocking   whistles   bluster,   and  the 

monstrous  chimneys  cluster, 
And  the  mad  looms  curse  and  brawl, 
166 


Where    the    human    torrent    pours,    weak    and 

wretched  from  the  doors. 
Don't   you   hear   again    the   patient   Mother 

caU? 
There's  a  whisper  in  your  ear  of  the  sounds  that 

once  were  dear  — 
Browsing    cattle,    barking    dogs,    bragging 

cocks ; 
O,  the  hungry  horses  neighing,  O,  the  odors  of 

the  haying, 

O,  the  company  and  comfort  of  the  flocks ! 
Yes,   you   hear   the   voice   where   the   city 

roars 

Through  its  narrow  banks  and  high, 
Wherever  you  roam,  "  Come  home,  come 

home, 
Home  to  my  arms  to  die !  " 

Through  the  haste  and  fret  of  trade  comes  the 

dream  that  cannot  fade, 
Of  the  never-laboring  leisure  of  the  ox, 
Of  the   purple   shadows   deep,   basking  on   the 

roofs  asleep, 

Of  the  permanence  and  patience  of  the  rocks ! 
Boy,  forget  the  blistering  street  where  the  flag 
gings  burn  your  feet; 

Boy,  forget  the  ugly  trolley's  vulgar  song; 
167 


Still  remains  the  land  of  wonder,  —  blue  skies 

over,  green  earth  under, 
Where  the  fainting  soul  again  grows  swift 

and  strong; 
Still  comes  the  cry  of  the  Long  Ago, 

Of  the  Far-away-in-the-Past, 
"  Here  be  your  rest,  my  breast,  my  breast, 
Back  on  my  breast  at  last ! " 


168 


f  retiertc  latorence 

1869—1005 
A  TRIBUTE  BY   PROF.  C.  T.  WINCHESTER 


MY  DEAR :  —  I  cannot  put  into 

words  the  sudden  and  poignant  sorrow  with  which 
I  learned,  a  few  hours  ago,  of  the  death  of  Frederic 
Lawrence  Knowles.  I  have  known  and  loved  him  since 
his  earliest  college  days ;  and  in  these  last  years  have 
watched  with  pride  and  admiration  the  growth  of  his 
genius  and  the  widening  of  his  fame  as  a  poet.  I  have 
no  mood  at  this  time  for  a  cool  estimate  of  his  work 
and  place;  but  one  certainly  risks  nothing  in  saying 
that  none  of  our  younger  poets  showed  greater  promise 
than  he.  jKTor  was  it  promise  only.  His  latest  volume 
contains  verse  that  any  young  poet  might  have  been 
glad  to  own ;  and  I  have  reason  to  know  that  he  has 
left  unpublished  even  better  work. 

He  had  always  a  quick  sense  of  that  subtle  power 
of  phrase  upon  which  the  charm  of  poetry  so  largely 
depends ;  but  his  latest  poems  showed  not  only  a  more 
exacting  criticism  of  form,  but  a  remarkable  growth  in 
the  content  of  thought  and  feeling.  They  were  full 
of  the  fire  and  dew  of  youth ;  but  almost  every  one  of 
them  showed  some  sense  of  the  largeness  and  solemnity 
169 


B.atovrtuc 


of  life.  They  were  not  trivial  exercises  in  graceful  dic 
tion.  And  in  the  reading  you  come  frequently  upon 
lines  that  express  some  dainty  fancy  or  some  serious 
truth  with  that  keen  poetic  note,  thrilling  and  memo 
rable,  that  only  the  masters  know.  The  very  first  line 
of  the  volume  has  haunted  my  memory  like  a  mournful 
echo  from  all  the  beautiful  but  vanished  past,  — 

"  Helen's  lips  are  drifting  dust." 

Alas  !  his  own  are  so  ! 

But  I  am  thinking  now  not  so  much  of  the  poet  as 
of  Fred  Kuowles,  the  man,  the  companion,  the  friend. 
That  refinement  of  taste  and  exquisite  sensibility  which 
made  him  a  poet  made  him  also  the  most  sympathetic 
of  friends.  He  was  the  model  of  genuine  courtesy. 
The  love  of  beauty  and  the  love  of  truth  were  married 
in  his  heart.  But  though  he  had  an  almost  feminine 
grace  and  charm  of  manner,  underneath  that  outward 
gentleness  there  was  a  steadfast  tenacity  of  purpose, 
a  fidelity  to  high  ideals,  a  capacity  for  patient  labor 
and  endurance,  and  a  sympathy  with  all  heroic  forms 
of  effort  and  suffering.  Only  those  who  knew  him  best 
can  tell  how  faithful  he  was  to  all  obligations,  how 
loyal  to  his  friends,  how  self-sacrificingly  generous  in 
his  affections. 

The  great  verities  of  the  Christian  religion,  learned 
in  his  childhood  from  the  lips  of  noble  parents,  he  em- 
170 


Hatoretue  iwotolrs 


braced  and  cherished  all  his  days.  As  he  came  to  man 
hood,  and  the  phases  and  problems  of  this  vast,  strange 
world  rose  upon  his  vision,  he  sometimes  found  it  hard 
to  interpret  life  in  terms  of  the  teaching  he  had  ac 
cepted.  But  he  was  the  soul  of  honesty  ;  and  the  cen 
tral  truth  of  God's  love  in  Christ  for  himself  and  all 
mankind,  he  never  doubted  or  questioned.  And  some 
of  us  know  —  what,  indeed,  was  evident  from  his  poetry 
—  that,  with  advancing  years,  that  great  truth  grew 
more  and  more  sufficient  to  explain  for  him  all  diffi 
culties  and  remove  all  fears.  I  take  down  his  book  and 
read  the  striking  little  poem  he  called  "  The  Steps  :  " 

"  Seize  your  staff  !  beyond  this  height 

We  shall  find  the  Infinite  Light  ! 
Gird  your  thigh  !  this  sword  shall  hew 

Paths  that  reach  the  untroubled  blue  ! 
Though  dark  mountains  form  the  stair, 

It  is  ours  to  climb  and  dare  ! 
Law,  truth,  love  —  the  peaks  are  three  : 

Sinai,  Olivet,  Calvary  !  " 

It  is  hard  to  think  of  him  as  passed  into  the  silence 
with  all  his  possibilities  of  song.  Our  earthly  hopes 
refuse  to  have  it  so  ;  we  can  only  bow  before  a  higher 
Wisdom.  For  us,  at  least,  there  is  the  memory  of  hia 
pure,  earnest,  aspiring  life,  and  the  lingering  music  of 
his  early  song.  For  him  —  let  me  read  his  own  lines  : 
171 


Hatotenc*  Zuiotolrs 


"  Laid  in  one  equal  bed, 
When  once  your  coverlet  of  grass  is  spread, 

"  What  daybreak  need  you  fear  ? 
The  Love  will  rule  you  there  which  guides  you  here  !  " 


172 


173 


TO  THE  ETERNAL  SPIRIT 

OTHOU  that  weavest  sun  and  stars 
Upon  Thine  everlasting  loom, 
Whose  pattern  makes  of  Earth  and  Mars 

But  glittering  spots  of  flame,  —  to  whom 
Save  Thee,  Thou  source  of  soul  and  fire, 
Shall  I,  unkindled  dust,  aspire? 

The  universe  that  thrills  with  Thee 
Is  half  Thyself,  yet  is  not  Thou, 

Behind  the  quivering  mask  I  see, 

With  them  of  old,  Thy  face  and  brow; 

Like  Moses  on  the  awful  height, 

I  all  but  touch  Thee  day  and  night. 

The  lightnings  are  Thy  veins,  Thy  blood 

Is  that  elusive  force  that  flows 
Within  the  swift  electric  flood 

175 


Sungtt  JJocms 


Which  hurls  the  star  and  shapes  the  rose; 
And  yet  Thou  liest  behind  all  this, 
The  pregnant  Mind  of  Life's  abyss ! 

The  star-dust  from  Thy  lips  is  blown, 

Pollen  of  planets  yet  to  be, 
Across  dark  fecund  voids  unknown, 

But  throbbing  with  the  life  of  Thee! 
From  those  live  heavens  withdraw  Thy  breath  • 
What  golden  blooms  would  fade  in  death! 

O  Thou  who  breathed  us  into  time 
From  the  eternal  calm  with  Thee, 

Breath  of  Thy  breath  —  for  what  far  crime  • 
What  long-forgotten  feud,  were  we 

Exiled  to  this  dark  star  of  grief, — 

More  helpless  than  a  gale-blown  leaf? 

To  Thee  ascends  from  this  worn  Earth 

The  litany  of  stricken  years, 
The  wild  despair  and  wilder  mirth, 

The  sound  of  laughter  hoarse  with  tear*; 
When  shall,  on  Thy  white  shores  of  peace, 
These  breaking  waves  of  anguish  cease? 

O  if,  as  He  of  Nazareth  taught, 
No  sparrow  falls  without  Thy  care, 

176 


Sunset 


Is  Thy  great  heart  less  moved  by  aught 

Which  we,  Thy  human  children,  bear? 
Yet  canst  Thou  share  our  grief  and  woe 
And  naught  of  Thy  calm  bliss  forego  ? 


Lo,  Thou  art  Harmony;    Thy  poise 
Is  unperturb'd  by  mortal  cries, 

Above  the  struggle  and  the  noise 
Thy  sea  of  infinite  silence  lies ; 

And  shall  our  loud  unreason  dare 

To  storm  Thy  peace  with  frantic  prayer? 

Prayer  is  communion,  the  repose 

Of  hearts  too  closely  join'd  for  speech; 

No  plea  that  Life  withhold  the  blows 

Whose  stalwart  purpose  is  to  teach,  — 

No  coward's  shriek,  no  discord  shrill, 

But  brave  souls  resting  in  Thy  will. 


And  though  Thou  sufferest  in  our  pain, 
Thy  tide  of  joy  is  full,  —  Thine  eye 

Looks,  tranquil,  on  the  nobly  slain, 

Or  on  those,  pierced  thro'  breast  and  thigh, 

Who,  lame,  heart-smitten,  smile  to  cheat 

Disaster  of  its  full  defeat. 
177 


Sunset 


Tho'  calmly  thro'  a  million  nights 

Thy  stars  have  burn'd,  Thou   Wise  and  Just, 
Our  lives  are  flickering  candle-lights 

Blown  out  by  Death's  impartial  gust. 
And  yet  I  know,  relit  by  Thee, 
These  tapers  glow  eternally. 

Their  flames  are  one  with  those  that  shine 

In  Sirius  and  the  Milky  Way, 
Both  share  the  Energy  divine, 

Nor  mind  nor  matter  knows  decay,  — 
Stars  fall,  force  changes,  man  must  bow, 
Yet  all  is  life,  and  life  is  —  Thou ! 


178 


Sunart 


THE   REST  OF  THE   STORY 


what's  the  rest  of  the  story,  please?  " 
The  tiresome  little  ones,  how  they  tease! 
I  have  told  them  of  wonderful  toys  and  dolls, 
Of  elves  that  dance  when  the  elf-king  calls, 
Of  castles,  of  giants,  of  knights'  emprise, 
Of  lovers  that  die  for  a  maiden's  eyes  ; 
And  the  story  grows  till  it  takes  too  long, 
And  bedtime  passes,  but  still  they  throng 
With  eager  voices  around  my  chair, 
Till  I  raise  my  finger  and  whisper,  "  There  ! 
It  is  time  for  children  to  be  asleep: 
Just  wait  till  morning  ;    the  tale  will  keep, 
And  then  we  will  finish  ;  "   but  no,  they  sigh, 
And  try  to  be  brave  and  not  to  cry, 
While  the  boldest  begs  on  his  small  bare  knees  : 
"  O  tell  us  the  rest  of  the  story,  please!  " 

And  thus  do  we  older  children  cry, 
Peevishly  curious,   "How?"   and   "Why?" 
And   "  When  is  the  end  of  it,  year  and  day?  " 
And    "Tell  us  the  reason,"    and    "What's  to 

pay?" 
And  our  Father  listens  with  patient  ear, 

179 


Sunset 


Yes,  bends  from  the  throne  of  the  Heavens  to 

hear; 

He  has  told  the  stories  of  childhood,  youth, 
Of  woman's  beauty,  of  manhood's  truth, 
And  the  fairy-tale  of  love,  and  then 
The  sadder  story  of  death,  to  men, 
And  whispers  last  of  a  wondrous  land,  — 
And  more,  that  we  scarce  can  understand: 
"  Ye  shall  know  the  rest  when  ye  wake   from 

sleep." 

And  the  story  is  left  —  but  we  sulk  and  weep : 
"  Love,  death !  how  oft  Thou  hast  told  us  these. 
But  what's  the  rest  of  the  story,  please  ?  " 


180 


THE   EXCHANGE 

FOUR  gifts  of  God  He  shared  with  me  — 
Joy,  beauty,  health,  and  woman's  love, 
Then  vanish'd  into  vacancy 

And  watched  me  from  the  void  above. 

I  kept  the  feast  unshared,  unspread, 
Hoarded  to  feed  the  lusts  of  youth ; 

God  took  it,  —  leaving  me  instead 

Pain,  suffering,  sympathy,  and  truth. 


181 


Stwstt 


TO   JESUS    THE    NAZARENE 

CLOSEST  to  men,  thou  pitying  Son  of  Man, 
V^   And  thrilled  from  crown  to  foot  with  fel 
lowship, 

Yet  most  apart  and  strange,  lonely  as  God,  — 
Dwell  in  my  heart,  remote  and  intimate  One ! 
Brother  of  all  the  world,  I  come  to  Thee ! 

Gentle  as  she  who  nursed  Thee  at  her  breast 
(Yet  what  a  lash  of  lightnings  once  Thy  tongue 
To  scourge  the  hypocrite  and  Pharisee!)  — 
Nerve  Thou  mine  arm,  O  meek,  O  mighty  One ! 
Champion  of  all  who  fail,  I  fly  to  Thee ! 

0  man  of  sorrows,  with  the  wounded  hands,  — 
For  chaplet,  thorns  ;   for  throne,  a  pagan  cross  ; 
Bowed  with  the  woe  and  agony  of  time, 

Yet     loved     by     children     and     the     feasting 
guests,  — 

1  bring  my  suffering,  joyful  heart  to  Thee. 

Chaste  as  the  virginal  lily  on  her  stem, 
Yet  in  each  hot,  full  pulse,  each  tropic  vein, 
More  filled  with  feeling  than  the  flow'r  with  sun ; 
182 


No  anchorite,  —  hale,  sinewy,  warm  with  love,  — 
I  come  in  youth's  high  tide  of  bliss  to  Thee. 

0  Christ  of  contrasts,  infinite  paradox, 
Yet  life's  explainer,  solvent  harmony, 
Frail  strength,  pure  passion,  meek  austerity, 
And    the    white    splendor    of    these    darken'd 

years,  — 

1  lean  my  wondering,  wayward  heart  on  Thine. 


183 


Situsrt 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  WHITE  HOUSE 

An  Acrostic 

THE    chance-flung    favorite    of    no    lucky 
hour,  — 

Here  is  the  man  who  strode,  not  rose,  to  power ! 
Eyes  riveted  on  duty,  not  reward, 
Offering  his  country  heart  and  brain  and  sword ; 
Danger  he  scorn'd  and  ease  he  put  away, 
On  toward  fame's  summit  plodding  night  and 

day; 

Ranchman,  rough-rider,  patriot,  magistrate,  — 
Exalting  Law,  and  reverencing  the  State,  — 
Rich  in  that  rare  inheritance  of  worth 
Old  as  the  heavens  and  honest  as  the  earth ; 
Oak-hearted,  fearless,  pure  as  Galahad,  — 
Sycophants  hate  him,  spoilsmen  think  him  mad. 
Except  our  land  beget  such  sons  as  he 
Vain  are  our  boastings  of  prosperity: 
Empty  of  self-conceit,  big-soul'd,  robust,  — 
Love  warms  his  will  yet  nerves  it  to  be  just,  — 
This  is  a  ruler  whom  the  ruled  can  trust ! 


184 


THE  HIGHER  UNITY 

WHEN  from  the  tortured  womb  of  earth 
Fell  the  white  moon  —  a  fiery  birth, 
Think  ye  that  to  that  fiercer  breast 
The  glorious  child  was  clasped  to  rest? 
Ah,  nay!    she  flung  herself  afar, 
No  heavenly  suckling,  but  a  star, 
Though  loud  the  stricken   mother   cried 
In  the  lone  anguish  of  the  tide. 

Thus  from  the  Past,  wherein  I  lay, 
Warm-nurtured  till  my  natal  day, 
I  fell,  by  inner  forces  hurled, 
No  nursling,  but  a  Will  —  a  World ! 
And  scornful  of  the  brooding  Face 
Sought  the  wild  silences  of  space. 
My  spirit  had  been  nourished  long 
On  ancient  creed  and  feudal  song, 
On  tales  of  war  and  glittering  lies, 
But  now  I  dared  thro'  chartless  skies, 
Oblivious  to  the  Mother's  call, 
Into  the  void  to  fall  and  fall. 
185 


Stntsct 


But  lo!   there  came  an  hour  when  even 

The  lunar  vagrant  paused  in  heaven, 

Cooled  the  hot  passions  that  rebelled 

(Some  god's  transcendent  Voice  compell'd), 

And  heard  this  Delphic  word  with  awe: 

"  Freedom  is  only  larger  law, 

On  thine  own  axis  thou  dost  turn, 

Yet  earthward  evermore  must  yearn ; 

Tho'  severed  by  estranging  space, 

Toward  her  that  bore  thee  leans  thy  face! 

And  thus  my  soul  around  the  Past 

Obedient  orbit  found  at  last  — 

Divorced  and  yet  dependent,  whirled, 

Space-pinion'd,  round  that  cradling  world, 

While  on  my  spirit  fell  the  truth: 

"  Revolt  is  but  the  mood  of  youth, 

And  if  uncheck'd  by  law,  may  be 

More  futile  than  conformity. 

Thou  and  that  distant  orb,  thy  source, 

Both  serve  Fate's  high  decree,  one  course 

Is  thine  and  hers,  one  track,  one  goal, 

One  sun  of  truth  o'er  each,  O  soul! 

All  minds,  all  wills,  all  worlds  are  wrought 

Into  one  cosmic,  timeless  thought; 

War,  fagot,  famine,  priestcraft  be 

Discords  that  foster  harmony, 

186 


S-nnett 


Sin  is  the  minor  in  the  strain 
That  swells  to  love  thro'  chords  of  pain; 
Creeds  change,  but  thought's  long  march  is  one 
From  star  to  star,  from  sun  to  sun ! " 


187 


Sunset 


A  LYRIC  OF  ASPIRATION 

O  BIRDS  of  fire  that  make  the  night 
One  flock  of  golden  wings, 
My  heart  would  join  your  rapturous  flight 

Far  from  terrestrial  things, 
Beyond  the  fever  and  the  scars, 
Where  the  white  gate  of  God  unbars, 
O  golden  stars,  O  golden  stars! 

O  falcon  with  the  beak  of  flame 

And  plumage  wild  with  fire, 
My  soul,  dust-cover'd,  spent,  and  lame, 

But  wing'd  with  fierce  desire, 
Soars  swiftly  to  thy  breast,  undone 
Till  that  delirious  goal  be  won,  — 
O  flaming  sun,  O  flaming  sun ! 

0  queen  of  all  the  thrones  of  space, 
And  bride  of  night's  abyss, 

White  as  a  passionate  woman's  face 

That  lifts  to  meet  a  kiss, 
Then  sinks,  while  thought  and  senses  swoon, 

1  crave  thy  mad  voluptuous  boon,  — 

O  passionate  moon,  O  passionate  moon! 
188 


O  naked  blue,  O  infinite  deep, 

I  faint,  I  long,  I  come! 
My  eager  spirit  scales  thy  steep  — 

Nor  shall  my  voice  be  dumb, 
My  heart  yearns  heavenward  with  a  cry: 
Wait !    One  draws  near !    'Tis  I !    'Tis  I ! 
O  naked  sky !    O  naked  sky ! 

0  milky  way  —  white  mother  breast 
That  sucklest  sun  and  star, 

1  languish,  with  a  babe's  unrest, 
To  quench  my  thirst  afar ;  — 

I  mount  to  thee,  my  heart  outruns 
The  feet  of  thy  immortal  ones,  — 
Bosom  of  worlds,  and  fount  of  suns! 

0  voyage  unknown !    O  sea  above ! 
O  shores  without  a  sail! 

1  launch  upon  your  waves  of  love, 
Nor  can  my  ventures  fail ; 

Shall  Earth  —  dark  star  —  suffice  for  me? 
A  son  of  immortality? 
Nay,  from  this  hour  I  cruise  on  thee, 
Eternal  sea,  eternal  sea ! 


189 


Sunset 


LOVE'S  REVELATION 

O  MYSTERY,  whom  we  dare  to  call 
God,  Father,  Friend,  -—  Thou  fathomless 

Sea 
Whereof  Mind  knows  no  truth  at  all 

Save  that  Thou  art,  and  art  not  we,  — 
Upon  our  lips  was  laid  Thy  fire  — 
Incarnate  sons  of  Thy  desire! 

We  are  the  shadows  of  Thy  will, 

The  emanation  of  Thy  thought, 
To  Thee,  Compassionate  One,  we  still 

Must  kneel,  as  those  whom  Love  hath  taught, 
And  trust  the  pliant,  sensitive  heart 
Which  apprehends  Thee  as  Thou  art. 

In  sod  below  and  star  above, 

Back  of  Beginning  and  farewell, 

Through  and  behind  all  shows  is  love, 
In  atom,  world,  and  plasmic  cell; 

Thou,  Lost  One,  dost  Thyself  disclose 

To  hearts  that  love,  and  only  those. 
190 


Sunset 


Thus  I  believe,  nay,  thus  I  know, 

For  love  hath  taught  me ;  come  Thou,  then, 
Through  every  nerve  and  artery  flow, 

And  let  me  store  Thy  power  for  men, 
Thus  shall  my  soul  a  chalice  be, 
Brimm'd,  Cosmic,  Conscious  Force,  with  Thee! 


191 


Sunset 


THE  TENANT 

r  I  "'HIS  body  is  my  house  —  it  is  not  I ; 
1      Herein  I  sojourn  till,  in  some  far  sky, 
I  lease  a  fairer  dwelling,  built  to  last 
Till  all  the  carpentry  of  time  is  past. 
When  from  my  high  place  viewing  this  lone  star, 
What  shall  I  care  where  these  poor  timbers  are  ? 
What  though  the  crumbling  walls  turn  dust  and 

loam  — 

I  shall  have  left  them  for  a  larger  home. 
What  though  the  rafters  break,  the  stanchions 

rot, 

When  earth  has  dwindled  to  a  glimmering  spot ! 
When  thou,  clay  cottage,  fallest,  I'll  immerse 
My  long-cramp't  spirit  in  the  universe. 
Through  uncomputed  silences  of  space 
I  shall  yearn  upward  to  the  leaning  Face. 
The  ancient  heavens  will  roll  aside  for  me, 
As  Moses  monarch'd  the  dividing  sea. 
This  body  is  my  house  —  it  is  not  I. 
Triumphant  in  this  faith  I  live,  and  die. 


Sunset  Jiotms 


This  is  a  copy  of  the  last  poem  written  by  Frederic 
Lawrence  Knowles.  It  was  composed  during  his  fatal 
illness,  about  a  week  before  his  death. 

ODEAR  farm,  O  lost  farm, 
O  fields  that  faced  the  sea, 
O  garden  old  where  the  children  stroll'd, 

In  the  likeness  of  you  and  me, 
How  the  dreams  call'd  and  the  lanes  call'd, 

Till  our  feet  must  needs  obey, 
Over  the  beckoning  roads,  dear, 
Over  the  long,  gray  roads,  dear, 
Over  the  roads  away! 

O  sweetheart,  O  strongheart, 

O  dearest  of  all  to  me, 
Our  past  is  dead,  our  dreams  are  fled, 

We  stroll  by  a  vaster  sea, 
But  the  storms  call,  and  the  waves  call, 

And  we  dare  not  say  them  nay, 
Over  the  years  we  fare,  love, 
Over  the  lands  of  care,  love, 

Over  the  years  away! 


193 


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